The Bunker
by Drachesky
Summary: When Danny, Steve and Grace go for a swim at a remote pool in the Ewa forest reserve, someone puts a bomb in Steve's backpack. Who is it? And what do they want?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- Trying for a little whump this time. Short opening chp., sorry. Let me know how it goes.**

Steve pulled himself out of the freshwater pool below Waimano falls and shook his head like a wet dog as he followed Grace up the short path to the trail where they had left their towels and backpacks. "Danno, do we _have_ to go?" the girl pouted, refusing the towel that her father held out to her.

"Yeah, Danno, do we _have_ to?" Steve seconded with a similar pout.

"Don't you start," Danny glared at him. "Yes, Monkey, we have to go because your mother is expecting me to drop you off in time for dinner. And that means we should have left…" he checked his watch, "30 minutes ago!"

"Aww." Grace reluctantly took the towel he held out to her and began to slowly dry off.

Steve looked around for his own towel and spotted his pack a few yards away under a tree. "Danno, did you move my pack?"

"Me? I've been with you the whole time, babe. Besides, I don't touch your stuff- it usually has grenades and other unspeakable items in it." Danny looked around at the clusters of visitors and the towels, handbags, and backpacks strewn around the lush forested area. "Someone probably just thought it was theirs and picked it up for a minute. There's a ton of people out here. Actually," he faced his partner, "please tell me you _didn't_ pack grenades in your backpack?"

Steve flashed him a boyish grin.

"Seriously? Steven! We've had this conversation- you do _not_ take these things out in public! What if someone else had found them? What if that little boy over there had-"

"Danno, the things I pack are important. They could save your life one day."

"A grenade is going to save my life? Are you sure it won't end my life instead? What have I told you before: leave it at-"

"Danny, I heard you the first time, and I didn't pack any grenades. Just my pocket knife."

"You mean that thing the size of a small machete? That's no pocket knife- that's some kind of SEAL ninja sword or …" His bantering ended abruptly as he saw Steve open the flap on his backpack and freeze. "What?"

"Get back. Get Gracie back." Steve's voice was low and urgent. "Get her away now, D."

Danny cast a glance at his daughter. "Sweetie, go wait for us by that big tree over there," he said, pointing to an oversized banyan tree down the trail.

"But…"

" _Now_ ," Danny emphasized. He waited until his daughter was out of earshot before turning back to his partner. "What is it?"

"A bomb. Someone planted a bomb in my backpack."

 **A/N - the focus for this story is conversation. I'm trying to get the character voices correct, and it's harder (for me anyway) than it sounds like. Feedback appreciated. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** : **Many thanks to everyone who favorited and reviewed so far. Any mistakes are mine alone.**

 _"A bomb. Someone planted a bomb in my backpack."_

"What?" Danny stared at Steve with a shocked expression. "You can't be serious." He moved forward, but Steve held up a hand to stop him.

"Stay back, Danny. I don't know what the trigger is. Could be motion-sensitive, weight, a switch… Just stay over there."

"Can you disarm it?"

"I don't know. I can't see much of it. And all my tools are at the bottom of the pack."

"I'll call Chin and bomb squad," Danny said, digging around in his own backpack for his phone.

" _I wouldn't do that if I were you."_

Both men turned at the sound of the new voice. A middle-aged man stood just off the trail a few yards away, his hands buried deep in the pockets of a tattered blue jacket that hung loose around bony shoulders. He was white, a _haole_ , with greying hair and a shaggy, unkempt beard. Heavy lines darkened his face as he studied the two officers.

"Who are you?" Danny growled. "What do you want?"

"My name isn't important," the man said with a slight shrug. "As for what I want…" He pulled a small device from his pocket and held it up. "I think you know what this is."

"A dead man's switch," Steve stated, eyeing the tiny trigger under the man's thumb.

"Very good, Commander McGarrett." He smiled as Steve started slightly at the use of his name. "I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if you make any sudden movements. I've already taken your sandals out of your backpack. Put them on."

Steve reached cautiously for the flip flops and slipped them on, his eyes never leaving the man. "If you're here for me, then let my partner go," he said calmly. Inside, he tensed, waiting for a good moment to pounce and throw the backpack- and himself, if necessary- off the trail and deep into the forest to protect the civilians around him from the blast. Expecting the man to refuse, he was surprised to see the slight shoulders shrug again.

"I don't care about your partner or the girl. They can leave whenever they want."

Steve relaxed slightly. "What do you want with me?" he asked, while gesturing to Danny to back away.

"You will soon find out. In the meantime, you and I are going to take a little walk. Put on the backpack," the man gestured with the hand holding the switch.

"Wait a minute-" Danny protested as Steve gingerly picked up the backpack and slid his arms through the straps.

"Danny, take Grace and go."

"But-"

"Please, D," Steve begged earnestly. "I don't know what he's got in here, but it's heavy- very heavy. If he slips and accidentally releases the trigger, it could blow up this whole section of trail." Steve gestured to the path leading down to the swimming hole where another family had set their bags and were busy applying sunscreen and blissfully oblivious to the danger a few yards away. "Just get Grace out of here."

The man standing in the jungle behind Steve nodded and gestured for Danny to go. Biting his lip, Danny looked at his daughter who was waiting obediently beside the banyan tree down the trail. Then he looked back at his partner and friend.

"And you say I have a kicked puppy dog face," Steve commented wryly as he watched Danny's indecision. "Just be a good boy and go home like I told you." He gave Danny a strange look as he spoke, but the white-haired man cut off any further conversation.

"Let's go," he gestured impatiently and motioned for Steve to proceed in front of him along the path. With one final look at Danny, Steve turned away and marched obediently up the trail. The white-haired man followed behind him, glancing back occasionally to be sure that Danny wasn't trying to follow. Danny, for his part, waited impatiently in the same place and watched until the pair disappeared into trees.

"Grace?" he called as soon as they were out of sight.

"Yes Danno?"

"Take my pack and sit down there. Don't move." Leaving Grace under the tree, he sprinted up the slippery, eroded path to the top of the hill after Steve and the white-haired. From here, the trail proceeded in an almost straight line along the edge of the ridge, but the path was empty. He jogged a few paces along the route, looking occasionally into the forest on either side, but he saw no sign of the pair. They had vanished.

…

"Danno, where's Uncle Steve?" Grace knew something was wrong but wasn't sure exactly what had happened. She had seen the white-haired man leave with Uncle Steve, but she hadn't seen a gun or weapon and hadn't heard her uncle's comment about the bomb, so she didn't understand why her uncle wasn't following them back to the car. "Did that man need help? Is Uncle Steve going with him to help him?"

"Oh, that man needs help, all right," Danny growled under his breath as they hurried down the trail toward the parking lot. He checked his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes. Still no signal. He took a breath and tried to calm his voice for Grace. "Monkey, I've got to come back and pick up Uncle Steve later. And yes, that man needs help. A special sort of help. So we need to hurry down to the car so I can get a signal and call Uncle Chin to come help us, and then call your mom to pick you up."

"Oh. Okay." Grace picked up her pace to a quick trot and the pair made their way quickly down the trail to the parking lot. As they neared the gravel lot, Danny checked his phone again and rejoiced to see one small bar light up in the corner of his screen. "Hang on, Monkey. Let me make a couple of calls."

He called Rachel first and asked her to pick up Grace from the parking lot. She was less than happy but at least agreed to come. Danny hung up quickly- he would deal with his ex-wife later. Next, he called Chin and explained the situation.

"You haven't seen the guy before?" Chin asked after hearing what had happened. "He's not from a past case?"

"I didn't recognize him, and he only wanted Steve. It must be somebody from Steve's past, but that just makes it more difficult. What if he's from a classified mission? How are we supposed to get information on that?"

"Joe White might be able to help. Kono can contact him. I'll send a crime scene unit to the trailhead- maybe he left evidence around your backpacks or maybe, if we're lucky, his car will be there."

"Grace and I already picked up our backpacks," Danny said. "They seemed undisturbed."

"Can't hurt," Chin replied.

"One last thing- do 'puppy dog' and 'good boy' ring a bell for you?"

"No. Why? Did Steve tell you something?"

"Yeah. Told me I had a puppy dog face, and then said to be a good boy and get Grace out of danger, or something like that. But his expression… I'm sure he was trying to tell me something." On the other end of the phone, Danny heard Chin calling Kono over and relating his query to her. For a moment, all he heard were garbled voices. Then Kono's voice came over the speaker.

"Danny? Kono here. I wonder if Steve wanted you to get a K-9 unit or SAR dog out there. It's not supposed to rain up there today, so any scent left behind should be good for another several hours or so. We could have a couple of SAR dogs at the trailhead within an hour."

"You think that would work?"

"It's worth a shot. The Ewa forest reserve is massive. If they've gone off-trail…"

"…then it could be a while before we find them," Danny finished. "Okay, let's try it. I also want to run every plate on every car in the parking lot in case the idiot drove here in his own car, and I want officers checking other trailheads in case he hiked in on another route. I also want an ambulance waiting in the parking lot because that stupid Neanderthal will probably get himself injured if he doesn't get blown up first."

"We should also check traffic cams for evidence of someone tailing you," Chin added. "If this man really does have a grudge against Steve, then how did he know Steve would be on the trail today?'

"I'll man the office and run down the traffic cam footage and any leads you find," Kono volunteered. "Chin can meet you at the parking lot and interview witnesses along the trail while you accompany the dogs."

"We'll find him, Danny," Chin assured. "We'll find him and bring him home- we always do."

"I hope so," Danny sighed. "He has my car keys."

 **A/N- I like numbers. Based on the rudimentary statistics I've run so far, most writers on FF are East Coast, female, have cats, and work in a high-stress environment, usually either medicine or education. I'm guessing, but haven't run the numbers yet, that the percent of British writers is higher than the percent of British readers. (In other words, FF fans who are British are more likely to contribute their own stories to the site.)**

 **Next thing to look at: I have a hunch that more people post during holidays than other times of the year. I want to run the numbers and find out. I'd also love to run the numbers on days of the week- is there a better day to post? What days get more feedback? And times- where do most readers live? What times do they read? How do genres break down by country? Do some countries prefer one type of writing over the other? So much fun!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- This is set during the early seasons of 5-0. Catherine is still active duty and Grover isn't around yet. Also, I've taken some liberties with geography: The Ewa forest reserve, the gun battery, and the bunker are all either real locations or based on real locations, but, unfortunately, in real life these places aren't anywhere near each other. Rather than spend forever researching a real place that meets my needs, I fudged a bit.**

 **I've done a limited amount of hiking on Oahu, but there are so many microclimates on the island and I'm unfamiliar with both them and local flora, so the trail descriptions are probably inaccurate as well. Did my best to research- there are some great websites out there for trails on Hawaii, but nothing beats the actual experience. Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **EDIT- updated. Fixed some errors. That's what I get for posting hastily on my way out the door on Christmas Eve.**

 **…** At the top of the hill, Steve was tempted to drop the backpack and break into a run, but without knowing the type of explosives or blast radius, he wasn't certain he could survive the resulting explosion. The trail flattened out and now consisted of loose, dark volcanic rock and mud instead of the slippery, hard-packed orange clay that marked the trail leading down to the pool. The heavy tree cover of the forest gave way to thick grass, bushes, and low trees with large, mossy rocks scattered along the route.

"Stop," the man instructed as they passed a large boulder. "Turn here."

"Where?" Nonplussed, Steve looked around. The trail continued straight ahead along the edge of the ridge with an almost sheer drop on either side. Following the man's gestures, however, he pushed his way through the leathery leaves and brush and found what appeared to be a narrow footpath descending the crumbling, rocky ridge face. "Down there?" he asked and was given a slight nod. Steve frowned. It hadn't been that long ago that he had attempted descending a similar slope and ended up in the hospital with a broken arm.

"Move," the man growled when Steve hesitated.

Grasping the loose rock and a few protruding roots, he shuffled about with his feet and tried to find solid footing on the slope. The backpack remained an omnipresent reminder of the fatal consequences of a fall. Taking a deep breath, he began to carefully make his way down.

It was slow going in flip flops and damp swim trunks. His feet slipped more than once and he scratched his legs and arms as he scrambled to find purchase on the slope.

Suddenly, the dark purple rock beneath his feet gave way and he slipped, catching himself with one hand as his bare chest and legs scraped painfully against the rough stones. He dangled there, watching as one shoe slipped and tumbled into the valley a thousand feet below.

"I wouldn't fall if I were you," the man commented drily from above.

Steve didn't spare him a glance. Focusing all his efforts on the rocks in front of him, he scrambled to find a new foothold and slowly descended the rest of the way to a small grassy patch on a ledge midway along the steep ridge. From here, the path seemed to follow the ledge on a slow, downward slope toward the forest at the base of the ridge.

He looked up to see if he had the opportunity to drop the backpack and run, but his captor followed close behind, climbing down with surprising gracefulness and a swiftness that indicated he had done this many times before. Alighting on the ledge, he saw Steve's bloodied legs and deep cuts to his torso and smiled.

"That must hurt," he commented.

Steve shrugged. "I've had worse."

The man's smile widened. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Put these on," he said, tossing them to Steve.

"Tell me where we're going," Steve countered as he caught the cuffs. "This valley goes on for miles. The police will catch up to us long before we reach your car."

"We're not going to my car," the man said. "Quit stalling and put them on."

Frustrated, Steve clicked the cuffs in place around his wrists, trying to leave a bit of wiggle room to work with later, but the man shook his head.

"Tighter."

Steve made them tighter.

"More."

Steve tightened them until the metal bit into his skin.

"Let's go," the man said at last and gestured to the narrow ledge in front of them.

"Fine, where to?"

"That way. Bunker down there," the man replied shortly, pointing to their left.

"There are no bunkers in this valley," Steve said with some confusion. He had hiked this area with his dad as a kid. There was an old pillbox bunker on the ridge behind them, but he didn't remember seeing or hearing about any ruins or bunkers in the valley below.

"Let's just say this one isn't well known," the man responded but wouldn't say more. He followed closely behind Steve, staying just out of reach as they walked carefully along the narrow ledge. Loose volcanic rock crumbled at the edge, some bound to the cliff only by the grass and roots of tiny, gnarled bushes. Steve pressed his body as close to the ridge as possible, his hands ready to reach out and grab on should the trail collapse under his feet.

The ledge finally ended and became a rough, muddy footpath, dampened from the thick clouds of mist that often clung to the ridge. The man gave Steve directions as the trail split and meandered through shorter scrub brush and low trees with sunny patches in the clearings. From here, the trail continued to descend into thicker forest and all but disappeared into the heavy underbrush. With no machete, Steve was forced to push his way through the mess with his cuffed hands as the man called out instructions behind him.

"Look," Steve tried again as he batted away the grasping red tendrils of a young banyan vine, "What do you want? I can't help you if I don't know what's going on." He was surprised when a hard shove sent him stumbling. Tripping over the sharp ridges of tree, he fell to his hands and knees.

"Help?" His captor snorted derisively. "You've _helped_ enough already. Get up."

"There is a _bomb_ in this backpack," Steve growled, still on the ground . He was surprised his fall hadn't set it off. "Are you trying to kill both of us?"

"It won't blow up unless I release the trigger," the man said, holding up the small device still clutched in his hand.

Steve gave the man an incredulous look. "You clearly haven't done this before," he stated. It wasn't a guess; he was certain the man was a complete novice. "Some explosives are very sensitive- even small jolts and movement can set them off." He pulled himself upright and leaned cautiously against the tree. "If you aren't careful, you could kill yourself as well. What explosives did you use?"

The man eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. "It hasn't gone off yet."

"That's no guarantee that it won't. What is it?"

"Not important." The man pointed to the forest in front of them. "Move."

Steve decided against trying to continue the conversation as they moved on. The path- where it was visible- plunged deeper into the forest, the tall trees and thick underbrush obscuring the sun. The ground, already damp, became decidedly soggy, while overhead unseen birds called to one another. Mosquitos buzzed hungrily around their heads and Steve heard the man chuckle as he swatted them away. Both his feet were covered in mud where the ground had softened, and Steve's bare foot stung from the scratches it sustained as he padded along through the forest.

After a while, the ground stiffened, becoming rocky and uncertain, and he heard the gushing of young water. A few minutes later, they came to a clear, rushing creek, but there was no resting here. Gesturing to several large boulders jutting out into the water, the man indicated that they should cross, and so Steve scrambled onto the rocks and picked his way carefully across to the other side.

Now the man directed him to a thick cluster of _Cordyline_. The almost banana-like plants grew in tight clusters in the forest understory, and Steve pushed through as best as he could, but it was slow, difficult work without a machete. After several minutes, he suddenly found himself standing in front of a wall, towering, green and mossy that was built into the hillside. He sought about for a door, but the man had already located the entrance and gestured to a rusting chain with a fresh padlock.

"Keeps the hoodlums out," he said, unlocking it. He pushed Steve inside pointed away from the door. "Over there," he growled, waiting for Steve to move sufficiently out of reach before he followed him inside and closed the door behind them and shutting them in darkness.

Moldy, damp air clung to Steve's lungs as he took an initial breath. Somewhere in the black, water dripped into a pool. Taking a few steps forward in the dark, Steve tested the floor with his good foot. Finding it firm, he padded quietly across the floor, moving quickly until…

"Don't even think about doing something stupid."

Steve froze, already halfway across the room. He saw a small flicker of light. Then a bright beam from the man's flashlight found him.

"Don't go that way- there's a hole." The light flickered down to his right, revealing a jagged hole in the floor a few feet from where Steve stood. "You want to stay alive, you go where I tell you. Clear?"

Steve nodded.

"Thought you army types were trained to say 'yes sir' and all that."

"It's the navy," Steve corrected even though he knew the man was goading him.

"Whatever. Lot of good it's done you now." The man opened a door on the right and pointed to a ladder. "Up there."

Steve climbed up in the dim light, being careful to avoid touching his cuts to the molding walls or rusting ladder. It was difficult work with his cuffed hands and the backpack, but he managed and soon emerged from the hole into a small room on the next level. It seemed drier and in better condition than the lower, but Steve had no time to run off as his captor followed close behind him.

The man led him through several rooms, each as empty and musty as the next, up another ladder, and through still more rooms of the maze-like bunker. Beneath one door, Steve thought he caught a gleam of light, but the man led him past that door and to another room, this one pitch black. Setting the flashlight against the wall, the man gestured to the corner. "Over there."

Steve moved to the corner and found an old mattress- probably from the 1940's if the smell was any indication- and a chain connected to a piece of exposed rebar in the wall.

"Cuffs off- use them to attach your foot to the chain," the man said, tossing the handcuff keys to Steve.

With a glare but no further argument, Steve did as he was told, slipping the metal off his wrists and re-attaching it around his ankle, being sure to tighten the cuff until it was snug. Then he tossed the keys back.

"You can take off that backpack now. Just slide it over here."

Steve slid the straps off his shoulders and set the backpack down, being careful to not jostle the items inside. With his good foot, he carefully nudged the pack across the floor to his captor. The man took it and left the room without another word, leaving Steve in total darkness.

…

"I might have a name."

"Already?!" Danny checked his watch as he followed the SAR dog handlers up the trail. "Kono, it's barely been an hour."

"What can I say? I'm just that good."

Danny could hear her over the phone manipulating the smart table in the background. "So who's our unlucky winner?"

"Based on your description of our perp, I ran all the license plates that HPD pulled from the parking lot and got rid of all cars registered to _kama'aina_."

"Come again?"

"Hawaiians. Us. As opposed to you _haoles_."

"Okay, right. So you assume he didn't steal some other guy's car, and then you ditched any results that didn't have white skin."

"Pretty much. That leaves 5 cars. Two are local and neither registered driver looks like your description of the guy. The remaining 3 are rentals. I called the companies and got them to send pictures of the drivers' licenses on file. One rental is to an Asian couple from Japan, one is to a family visiting from California and one is to 64 year old Kurtis Foster. The photo is almost 8 years old, but if you whiten the hair, age the face and add a beard…"

"…then you have our guy," Danny finished. "Okay, great. So what's the connection to Steve?"

"No clue. Still working on that. Couldn't contact Joe or Catherine, either. How goes the search on your end?"

"We're still hiking up the trail to the pool. If you find anything else, use the SAT phone or call Chin- he's in the parking lot manning the command station. I'm about to run out of signal, but I'll let you know if the dogs get a trace."

"I'll call Chin. Keep me posted, brah," and Kono hung up.

…

Steve wasn't sure how long he had before the man returned, but he didn't want to waste any of the precious minutes that he had alone. From the man's flashlight beam, he had gotten a quick glance at the room and knew that there was very little in it that could help him. It was a square, about 12 foot by 12 foot concrete room with a heavy, rusting door covering the only entrance and exit. The damaged, lumpy mattress in the corner was the only piece of furniture, and the exposed rebar in the wall was the only interesting feature in the architecture.

Closing his eyes, Steve reached out with his hands and explored the chain and its attachment point to the rebar. It was heavy, perhaps meant for a large breed of dog, he theorized, and threaded around the rebar to pass through a large link in the end of the chain. Running his hands over the metal bar in the wall, he found that water damage had caused chunks of the concrete to fall away, exposing the steel beam to which his chain was attached. He pulled at the metal, bracing his feet against the wall, but felt no give in return. Placing his hands around the base of the bar, he felt the concrete and was pleased to find that it was damp and somewhat crumbly. It wouldn't be easy or fast, but, given enough time, he could eventually break away enough of the wall to expose the end of the bar and release the chain.

Placing one hand on the wall, he then set off around the room. The chain was short- only 5 feet long, which prevented him from exploring the far side, but if he lay on his back and stretched out with his hands, he could just touch the edge of the door. He was unable to reach the handle or the hinges. As he moved, he felt around carefully with his feet to see whether there were any interesting things that he could use as a weapon or, better still, something to pick or break the cuff around his ankle. Unfortunately, the area seemed to have been swept clean before his arrival and he returned to the mattress empty-handed.

By now, he estimated it had been about 2 ½ hours since he had left Danny and Grace. His swim trunks were still wet and he shivered as the heat of the hike wore off and the damp chill of the bunker set in. His chest ached where the rocks had cut and scraped, but he didn't dare use the filthy mattress as a bandage. Instead, he stood the mattress on end, leaned it against his back for meager warmth, and began to slowly chip away at the concrete surrounding the rebar. In the heavy silence in the bunker, the quiet _tschk, tschk, tschk_ could barely be heard.

…

**A/N- Last update for a few days- family and all that. Think of it as a Christmas present. Mele Kalikimaka!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- I added an updated version of Chp. 3 to fix several errors. Sorry. That's what I get for posting in a rush on Christmas Eve. Hope everyone had a lovely holiday, whichever one you celebrate.**

 **…**

"Mahalo," Chin thanked the uncle and his nephew as he snapped a quick photo of their map. As the pair pulled out of the trail parking lot, Chin pulled out his phone and called Danny. "The dogs find anything yet?"

"We just got here and cleared about twenty tourists out the swimming hole. McGarrett's scent is all over the place, so they're trying to get the dogs to focus on the trail. But given how busy it's been…"

"It's a long shot," Chin agreed sympathetically. "If you've got an extra officer or two, I have a location you can check out. I thought it was odd that Kurtis Foster, if that's who this is, took Steve deeper into the forest reserve. You indicated he had plans for Steve, which means he must have a place to go to carry out those plans. Hiking out by another trail would be difficult due to the distance to all the other trailheads from your location."

"You think he has a hideout somewhere in the jungle?" Danny gestured to another officer with the nametag Palani and motioned for the man to follow him up the trail in the direction Steve had been taken. "Where?"

"I met a couple of World War Two buffs in the parking lot. They had a map that purported to show all of the publicly-accessible ruins on the island. There's apparently an old gun turret on top of the ridge before the trail descends to another parking lot in Wahiawa. It's two stories, just off the main trail, easily visible they said."

"But they didn't see him there?"

"They hadn't gone up yet. They were just preparing to hike there when HPD arrived and cordoned off the area."

"I'm headed up there now with Officer Palani. We'll check it out," Danny said. Leaving one of the HPD members in charge at the swimming hole, Danny and the officer left the visitors, HPD, and SAR dogs behind and hurried up the trail to the top of the ridge.

…

Steve brushed the broken bits of concrete off the ledge and hid a few of the larger pieces that he hoped to use as weapons under the mattress as he heard footsteps approaching. One particularly jagged piece he tucked into the pocket of his swim trunks as a just-in-case for later. When the door opened a few seconds later, he was seated cross-legged on the mattress, running the chain through his hands.

"Couldn't get out, huh?" The man shone his light directly in Steve's face and grinned as Steve squinted against the strong light. "Woulda figured a SEAL could do better than that. Guess they're not all they're cracked up to be." He tossed the small handcuff key to Steve. "Put that thing around your other foot now. And here's an extra pair for your hands."

"Come and make me," Steve growled. He was tired of the games and wanted answers.

"Son, I wasn't born yesterday." The man pulled a handgun from behind his jacket and pointed it in Steve's direction. "I'm going to tell you the truth- I don't plan on letting you leave here alive. But how you die is up to you: if you want the easy way out, you just keep sitting there, and I'll just start shooting limbs until there's nothing left to shoot."

Steve eyed the weapon and the man's steady grip. Was the man bluffing? Steve wasn't sure. He slowly took the keys from where they had landed on the floor, unlocked the cuff from the chain, and locked it around his other ankle as he had been instructed. Then he took the second pair and began to secure his wrists.

The man barked a short laugh. "Only easy day was yesterday, huh? Guess you think you're going to be rescued at some point? Hoping they'll show up before I'm finished with you?" Pulling a dark flask from one pocket, he took a long drink and chuckled humorlessly. "I've got news for you, son: they're not going to find you, not until your cold, dead body is covered in maggots. No one is coming for you, not until I've finished, and I won't be finished until you're begging me to pull this trigger."

Steve stared at him silently and finished with the cuffs. He passed the key back without a word.

"What, no comeback?" the man goaded. "No retort?" He pocketed the key and gestured to the doorway. "Get up and come here."

Pulling himself slowly into a standing position, Steve tried not to shiver as a cold draft from the hallway blew across his skin. "I can't walk this way," he protested.

"Scoot around on your bottom, then," the man said with a shrug. "I don't care- I've got all day."

Steve shuffled slowly toward the door. The cuffs allowed him to only move a few inches at a time, resulting in an awkward, twisting hobble across the floor. The man backed up as he advanced, careful to stay out of reach as he led him into the hallway and down a long corridor. They passed several more rooms and then the man stopped. "In here," he said, pointing to a door on the right.

Steve entered and saw a room similar to his own cell in size and shape but with more furnishings. A row of crates formed a crude table along one wall and various smaller boxes and instruments cluttered the surface, an eclectic assortment of items that the man had salvaged from the decrepit bunker. A lantern hanging on the wall donated its meager light to the small space but left the corners in musky darkness. It was the item on the other side of the room, however, that drew Steve's attention.

"You like it?" the man leered. "It was a surprise, finding a dental chair from the 1940's so well preserved in here. I could have sold it to a museum and made a nice chunk of change, but that was before my Colin died." His eyes hardened as he waved the gun toward the chair. "Sit down."

Steve recalled another chair in another room where another man had loomed over him with angry questions and pointless violence. That op, which was still classified, had ended years ago, but several scars from that mission remained. As he sat apprehensively on the padded seat, he noticed that the man had made a few adjustments to the chair. Metal handcuffs had been added to the footrests and leather cuffs to the armrests. He eyed the man standing in the doorway and mentally calculated the chances of survival if he charged the man now. The odds weren't good.

"Go on," the man prodded, nodding at the restraints. He passed the handcuff key in Steve's direction. "You know what to do."

Steve set his feet on the metal legs and slowly locked them in place. "Colin is your son?" he asked, stalling for time.

"My only son," the man said, stepping closer now that Steve was somewhat restrained. "But you already know that, Commander McGarrett. He told you everything about himself."

Steve racked his brains as he leaned back in the cold seat and slid his left arm inside the leather restraint. "How did he die?" he asked as he tightened the buckle over his wrist.

"ISIS," the man said shortly. "After everything that he wrote, I expected you to at least be at his funeral. I looked for you there- Martha and I both did- but I suppose you were too busy with your precious task force and saving the local natives from pickpockets or something." He nodded to Steve's right wrist which hung limply by his side. "Now that one."

"How?" Steve waved his left hand helplessly from its restraint and hoped to draw the man closer. "I can't tighten it like this." He had slipped the sharp rock out of his pocket and cupped it in his hand now as he waited. All he needed now was to close the distance between them.

But the man would have none of it. "I'm not a fool," he said shortly. "Quit screwing around and use your teeth."

Biting back a retort, Steve shoved his right hand through the loop and pulled on the leather strap with his teeth until it was snug around his wrist. Leaning all the way back in the reclining chair, he turned his head and watched the man approach. With one hand aiming the gun at Steve's midsection, the man quickly tested each restraint with the other hand until he was satisfied. Then he laid the gun aside on the crates and picked up a few of the instruments lying there.

"I've been waiting for this day for a long time," the man said as he considered each item carefully. "When we first got word that Colin had been captured, we hoped there would be a rescue. 'Leave no man behind', isn't that the saying?"

Steve watched as he set the pliers down and picked up something else that looked suspiciously like a drill.

"For a while, we received updates: he was being held in Gazna, then Erbil, then Mosul. We knew he was hurt, but he was alive and that gave us hope." The man set the drill aside and sighed heavily. "Do you know what 'hope' is, Commander? Hope is something that can't be seen, but something that you look forward to. We hoped for our boy to return home."

This time he selected a small hand saw and tested it on the rough wood of the shipping crate. A few specks of sawdust sputtered out and floated down to the floor.

"Even after the officer showed up on our doorstep, after we received word of his death and that his body had been recovered and was being shipped home- even then, we hoped. Maybe it was the wrong person. Maybe someone had made a mistake, someone had misidentified him. Maybe Colin was still alive."

This time, he selected a coil of wire and unwound it slowly in his hands.

"Our hopes were dashed when his body arrived. There was no denying it was our boy. We could no longer avoid the truth: that our son, our only child, was never coming home again. We would never hear him speak or laugh or cry. He would never again call or write us. That truth ruined Martha. She couldn't handle it and broke down. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't speak, wouldn't do anything for days. I eventually took her to a hospital. They made her talk to a shrink. She blamed me- _me!_ \- for his death."

Steve eyed the wire with trepidation as the man uncoiled it and wrapped it around both hands. The man walked behind the chair and out of Steve's line of sight. A moment later, the wire was slipped over his head and around his throat. Tightening the muscles in his neck, Steve arced his head back as he fought for air. The wire hurt as it pulled against the cartilage just under his skin. It was too thick to cut the skin, but Steve knew it was more than capable of crushing the bones and cartilage in his throat. Gasping, he tried not to panic as the air hissed in his mouth.

"Tell me, Commander," the man breathed in his ear, "are you afraid to die?"

The wire loosened, just a bit, and Steve sucked in a breath.

"It's not a rhetorical question," the man growled when Steve failed to answer promptly. "Are. You. Afraid. To. Die?"

"No," Steve rasped.

"Why not?" the man demanded, pulling on the wire again. "Do you think you're going to some afterlife? Some form of heaven where all the good cops and soldiers go for saving so many lives? What about the ones you didn't save? The ones you put in the ground yourself?"

Steve wheezed, unable to respond. Catherine believed in heaven and hell and a deity in a general sense, but Steve wavered between atheistic and agnostic. Growing up on the islands, he was familiar with the ancient Hawaiian beliefs which were now adopted by the surfing and outdoor community, and he was equally familiar with the Christian traditions favored by mainlanders and military families. As long as they left him to run his island in peace, Steve didn't care which one, if any, was correct.

His vision was beginning to grey around the edges when he felt the wire loosen.

"Don't have an answer, do you Commander?" the voice behind him taunted.

Steve lay on the chair, gasping for breath as the man tied the wire behind the headrest, securing his head and neck to the chair but leaving him room to breathe turn his head slightly. His eyes followed the man as he returned to the workbench and picked up a pair of pliers.

"So you aren't afraid of death, Mr. Navy SEAL Commander? Very brave, considering where you're going," the man commented, clicking the pliers together as he approached. "I would like to think that my son was not afraid, either, in the end. That would give me much peace of mind." Taking a spare crate from the corner, he dragged it across the floor and seated himself near Steve's right hand. "So, let me ask you a new question: Are you afraid of pain?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- WARNING- contains torture.**

 **I've tried to place the Steve scenes at the end of the next few chapters so that you can still follow Danny, Chin, and Kono and skip the torture if it's not your thing. Otherwise, tune back in at chp. 10. I've written all but the last chapter at this point.**

 **Many thanks for all the faves and reviews!**

The ridge trail proved to be longer than Danny expected, so he and Palani broke into a quick trot as the trail leveled off on top of the ridge. It was a beautiful afternoon for hiking- scattered clouds dotted the valleys on either side, and a cool breeze pushed a welcome mist through the trees. Neither man had time to appreciate these things, however, as they rushed on in their attempt to find Steve.

After nearly three miles of hiking, the narrow footpath tilted down to a series of switchbacks leading to the valley. Here, the pair stopped and looked around.

"Clearly visible, my ass" Danny began to mutter as he squinted into the forest below.

" _Detective!_ " Palani hissed with a gesture. _"Over here_!"

Danny pushed through the heavy ferns and peered over the edge. A washed-out footpath wound through the clumps of fern, descending twenty feet of steep hillside to a small, heavily-graffiti structure protruding from the ridge. "Do you hear anything?" he asked in a hushed voice to Palani. The officer shook his head. "Shouldn't be this quiet," Danny mumbled. Drawing his weapon, he grasped a frayed rope tied off at the top of the trail and began to climb slowly downwards. The rope ended on the roof of the bunker which featured a square hole and a ladder that disappeared into the interior. Danny covered the hole with his weapon and gestured for Palani to join him.

Working together, they descended through the roof into the first room. The single room with a long, horizontal window splitting the opposite wall was empty. A second ladder through a second hatch led to the second room. With a silent prayer to a god he rarely prayed to, Danny jumped into the second room. It was empty as well.

Steve wasn't there.

…

" _So there's no sign of him?_ " Kono asked hopefully.

"Sorry, Kono. I don't think he was ever here. It's too popular, if the graffiti is any indication, for carrying out a covert K&R." Danny kicked an empty soda can out of the way and scrunched up his nose at a limp piece of plastic tangled in the leaves in the corner. "The dogs haven't made it this far up the trail yet, but I'm willing to bet Steve and Grumpy Hair left the trail long before that."

" 'Grumpy Hair'?"

"Don't knock it- it keeps me optimistic." Danny swept his eyes over the empty bunker one last time. "Do you think Super SEAL left us any kind of sign or clue as to where they went?"

"Knowing Steve, I'm sure he did."

"Yeah, but can the rest of us non-SEALS spot it?"

"Steve knows you, Danny. If he's able to leave a sign, I'm sure you or Chin will find it."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence but thank me after I find him," Danny said, climbing back to the roof of the structure. "Palani and I are going to head back to the swimming hole and check up on the dog's progress."

"Sounds good. Chin said he was headed up the trail in that direction. Call me back when you meet him- I think I'm close to having more information on our kidnapper."

Danny hung up and followed Palani up the rope to the trail. From there, the pair set off on the long three miles back to the swimming hole. As they walked, Danny tried to imagine that he was in Steve's shoes… or flip flops, as it were. He tried to recall what the SEAL had taught the Aloha Girls during their unfortunate camping trip and subsequent visits to troop meetings. He doubted Steve would have had the time to make something obvious, like an arrow ("but that would be nice," he muttered to himself), which left only the things Danny would never notice: rocks, sticks, and roots.

He glanced at an overturned rock on the side of the trail and stopped to study it. It had clearly been overturned recently- he could see the red lesion in the dirt where it had been knocked free earlier- but how was Danny to know whether this rock belong to his partner or one of the other countless hikers who had passed this way today? Maybe Danny himself had kicked it over earlier and never noticed.

Further down the trail, he spotted scuff marks. Where those Steve's shoes? Or some kid dragging his hiking stick?

He shifted his attention to the short trees and bushes that dotted the top of the ridge. Was that dead branch broken by the wind, or did his partner pass this way? Going to the edge, he peered over. The trees and bushes ended a few feet away in a sheer drop. Unless his partner could sprout wings and fly- and Danny wasn't willing to bet on it- they hadn't gone this way. Sighing in frustration, Danny returned to the trail and hurried the rest of the way back to the swimming hole and waterfalls.

…

Steve's scream tore through the bunker as the man held up the pliers and studied the pale fingernail clinging to the instrument's jaws. Then the man dropped it on the floor, took a long drink from his flask and waited for his prisoner's cries of agony to stop. He didn't have to wait long. Within a minute, Steve had pulled his breathing under control and lay quietly, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a rapid pant.

"ISIS did that to my son," the man commented softly. "When we first went to identify the body, the medical examiner only showed his face. I took Martha home after that and returned a few hours later. I convinced him to let me see the rest of the body. I wanted… I wanted to know how he had died. I wanted to know everything they had done to him." He took a shuddering breath and clicked the pliers absently in one hand. "He pulled back the sheet and I saw… I saw his chest, his hands, his legs…"

Steve's fingers twitched at the sound of the pliers and he gripped the armrest tighter with his good hand. "I didn't kill your son," he said carefully through clenched teeth.

The man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. "You could have prevented it," he accused, his voice tight with emotion.

"How?" Steve demanded. "What could I have done- go over there and rescue him? You've done your homework- you know I'm not active duty anymore. I couldn't just-" but Steve stopped abruptly as the man jumped to his feet, his face reddening in anger.

"Colin shouldn't have been there in the first place!" the man roared. "His place was here, on the islands, with Martha and me and his wife and the baby. _That's_ where he belongs. Not in some desert halfway around the world! That war has nothing to do with us! We shouldn't even be there!"

Gripping the pliers in one hand, he seized Steve's middle finger and began to lift the nail. Steve gritted his teeth, but there was no stopping the scream that rushed out as the nail was torn away. As his back arced off the chair and his arm shook in pain, the man stood over him impassively and waited.

"This is what my son suffered," he said at length when Steve was quiet again. He dangled the nail in front of Steve's watering eyes. "They pulled off every one of his nails, on his fingers and his toes." He dropped the nail on the floor in disgust. "I had hoped his death was fast, painless. I would even have been happy if they had shot him in the head. It would have marred his beautiful face, but at least his suffering would have been short. Instead, he had to endure so much, _so much_."

Steve tried to push the pain aside as his vision cleared slowly. "I'm sorry… for… your loss," he gasped out as he caught his breath. "I've had buddies die over there, too. They're good men and they left good families behind."

"Then why did you push my boy to enlist? Why didn't you convince him to stay home?"

Steve eyed the man warily. "I don't understand…"

" _Don't understand_ , _don't understand_ ," the man muttered, rubbing a hand through his beard. "You've forgotten. My son was nothing to you, not a face, not even a name, just a signature on a dotted line. What do they pay you per recruit?" He picked up the pliers again and leaned forward. "Must be a nice, fat paycheck. Enough to make you overlook the fact that you've sent those boys off to be murdered!"

Steve watched with rising panic as the man reached toward the next finger, but he was powerless to pull away. He felt the metal bite down on the edge of the nail and pull. "I'm not a recruiter," he gasped out as the man tugged on his nail. "I have… no idea… what you… are talking… abo- aaaaah!" His voice broke as the third nail was ripped ruthlessly from his finger. For several minutes, his vision greyed and a loud ringing filled his ears. When his sight cleared, he found the man sitting once more beside him, this time with a file folder in his hands.

The man removed a sheet of paper and laid it on Steve's bare chest. "Is that not your email?" he accused, jabbing the paper with his finger.

Squinting, Steve saw his own email address at the top of the page in the FROM category. He looked at the TO line. Colin Bradley Foster. Through the fog of pain, something clicked into place.

 _"Colin Foster?"_

 _"Please, sir, call me Brad. Only my parents call me Colin."_

 _"Okay, Brad, how can I help you?"_

 _"I want to enlist. I think. But I'm not sure…"_

"Brad. Your son is Brad Foster," he said aloud. Turning his head to look at his tormentor, he saw a much older, more careworn version of the same face. "You're Kurtis Foster."

"So you _do_ know what I'm talking about." Kurtis Foster opened the folder again and pulled out a stack of papers. "I found these on my son's computer after he died. You two had quite the correspondence." He set the cold pile of paper on Steve's chest, but pulled the top one aside.

" _Brad,_ " Mr. Foster began to read,

" _Sorry to hear you're having trouble with your unit. The steps you've taken so far are good, but remember that the COC is there for a reason- use it. If what you're reporting to me is accurate, you shouldn't have any trouble from them if you make a proper report to your CO…."_

Mr. Foster looked up from the unfinished email. "You know, his emails to you tell a very different story from what he told us." He removed a smaller bundle from the folder and balanced it on his knee. Picking up the top sheet, he read aloud:

" _Dear Mom and Dad,_

 _There's a dust storm outside so the guys are all stuck inside tonight. It's technically not my turn to use the internet, but I paid Carter with MRE apple pie and he gave me his slot. Looks like they're setting up some board games for later. Had a good patrol yesterday- clear skies and a clean run. Gotta wrap it up- sorry for the short message, but a slice of pie only bought me a few minutes. All my love to you both. Give Mom a kiss for me._

 _Colin_ "

Mr. Foster looked up with tears in his eyes. "Those were the letters we were getting. He never told us about the patrols that went south or the IEDs they encountered or the buddies he lost. Only the good things, that was all he ever wrote. We thought everything was fine."

Steve didn't know what to say. He still couldn't make the connection between the grieving father sitting on the crate beside him and the man's idea that Brad's death was somehow his fault. He watched as Mr. Foster's shoulders shook with silent sobs.

After a moment, Mr. Foster continued in a shaky voice: "Colin always told us when he would be out of contact, so when the emails stopped suddenly without any warning, we knew something was wrong."

"When was he taken?" Steve asked.

"Last March. Just after… just after his daughter was born." Mr. Foster pulled out his wallet and removed a small photograph of a smiling baby girl. "That's her," he said, holding it up for Steve to see. "She's going to grow up without a father. I'm all she's got- her other grandfather passed away shortly after Colin married- but after this," he waved his hand at the room, "she won't have me, either. She'll grow up with no man in her life. It just isn't right." He replaced the photo with trembling fingers and slowly collected the papers from Steve's torso and stacked them neatly in the folder.

Steve shifted slightly as the papers brushed against his fresh wounds from their climb down the cliff a few hours before. "It's not too late, Mr. Foster. She can still see you."

"Behind bars, you mean. Don't lie to me- I know I've committed more than one felony today. She'll be in college before I'm ever released," he spat out bitterly.

"You don't know that. Release me, turn yourself in," Steve tried. "I'll speak to the DA, see what can be worked out..."

"No, no." Mr. Foster shook his head and set the folder on his lap. "I know how this ends for me. I've made my bed- now it's time for me to lie in it." His thin shoulders drooped as he brushed his fingers over the picture of his son taped to the front of the folder. Then he set the folder aside on one of the crates. "Time to move on," he murmured quietly.

He picked up a pair of heavy cutters and Steve flinched as Foster moved behind his head, but instead of pain, he felt only the metal wire over his throat snap free. "Here's the keys. Get up, put the cuffs on, just like before," Mr. Foster instructed, dropping the keys onto Steve's swim trunks. Picking up his gun, he retreated to the doorway and waited.

Steve realized the conversation was over for the moment. Leaning forward, he winced as the movement pulled at the cuts and abrasions on his chest. He grasped the leather strap around his left wrist between his teeth and pulled until the buckle loosened. Then he carefully removed the strap retraining his damaged right hand before bending over to unlock his feet. Spotting his backpack in the corner, he paused.

"There's a bottle of water in my bag. I'd like to have it." He waited as Mr. Foster considered the request and finally nodded. Gesturing with the gun for him to remain seated, the man opened the top of the backpack and dug through the items himself. Steve took the time to shift the sharp bit of rock from his injured right hand to his uninjured left and stood carefully. His backpack was on the ground eight feet away. His captor was focused on the bag, not paying attention to him.

Steve calculated the risk quickly and took a step.

Mr. Foster looked up. He raised his gun.

Making a split-second decision, Steve lunged for the gun.

Mr. Foster pulled the trigger.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N- As before, this chapter follows rest of the team first, then Steve at the end. I don't think a warning is needed for this Steve scene as it contains no torture, just some whump.**

 **Thanks for reviews and suggestions! Also, given what we know about Steve's injuries from the last chapter, if you know about that type of injury and can provide me with more info, please PM me. I've looked up what I can online, but I'd like to get it right.**

 **...**

Chin was waiting for them at the top of the hill above the falls with a SAR dog, the dog's handler, and another HPD officer. Danny was surprised to see that he was smiling. "Glad you're back, brah," Chin said, clapping Danny on the shoulder. "We've got good news: Kono has more information on our kidnapper _and_ I think one of the dogs located Steve's trace."

Danny perked up immediately. "That's great! Where's Steve?"

"That's the problem- look over there."

Danny walked behind the large boulder and pushed through the tall grass and ferns to the edge of the cliff. "Yikes."

"Yeah. The slope is really unstable so don't get too close. We can't take the dogs down there right now, so they're bringing up climbers with a special harness for the dogs."

"Okay." Danny surveyed the slope and the dark forest below. "How do we know Steve went this way?" he asked doubtfully.

Chin pointed to a patch of dirt near the edge of the cliff. The loose, red soil had been stomped down into an arrow pointing toward the cliff face.

"Son of a… he actually left an arrow," Danny couldn't help a small grin. "How long until the SAR guys get here?" He wanted to climb down the cliff and immediately continue the search, but knew better than to put himself in unnecessary danger.

"Not sure. Less than an hour, but they've got a lot of heavy equipment." Chin set his own rucksack down and dug out his lunch. "Got one for you, too," he said, passing Danny a Styrofoam container. "Hope you like Pad Thai."

"What did Kono have to say?" Danny asked as he settled onto a dry spot on the ground and dug in. Pad Thai wasn't his favorite, but he would have eaten all the pineapple on the island if it meant finding Steve sooner.

"She told me to call her back once you showed up. She wants to tell us herself." Chin pulled the lumpy sat phone out of his backpack and set up nearby. "Kono?"

"Hey cuz! Danny there?"

"I'm here," Danny leaned over Chin's shoulder toward the mouthpiece. "What have you got for us?"

"Kurtis Foster is definitely our guy. I spoke to his daughter-in-law, but haven't been able to reach the wife yet. Apparently he had a son named Colin Bradley Foster."

" _Had_?" Danny interrupted. "That doesn't sound good."

"His son was captured last year by ISIS militants when their convoy was hit near Erbil. He was killed a few months later just before the liberation of Mosul. It hit the family hard- Colin left behind a young wife and baby daughter- but his father had the hardest time. He began drinking, became violent, lost his job, and eventually divorced his wife when she kicked him out of the house. From there, he dropped off the radar for the most part, only surfacing here and there for public intoxication, disorderly conduct, and an unpaid hotel room at a place up in Nanakuli."

"Ok…" Danny rubbed a tired hand over his face. "So the guy is upset, he's had a rough year, I get that, but how does this lead to kidnapping Steve?"

"Still working on that. His daughter-in-law, Melanie, is supposed to bring Colin's laptop by later. I'm hoping to find evidence on it linking him or his father to Steve. Neither Melanie nor Martha, Kurtis's wife, had seen Steve before except for on the news. Colin was army, not navy, so no naval connection to Steve either."

"Hang on," Danny said, waving his hands back and forth in front of the sat phone, "how do we know that this is our guy? Maybe he just came up here for a hike, blow off some steam…"

"I'm getting there," Kono said patiently. "Kurtis turned up on his wife's doorstep a few weeks ago. She said he was angry and kept muttering about making _him_ pay for the death of his son. He said he had it all planned out and just need a few more items. She finally gave him some cash and he left."

"Did she call the police?" Chin inquired.

"Yes, but they told her that unless she had some kind of evidence that Mr. Foster was planning something, there was nothing they could do. Apparently the local police think he's gone off the deep end and it's all just the ravings of another homeless crazy guy."

Danny sighed. "Oh, he went off the deep end, all right."

"Well, here's the kicker," Kono continued. "After I got off the phone with Mrs. Foster, a Mr. Nishijo called. He owns a hardware store in Maili, up the road from Kurtis's last known location. He saw the BOLO on TV and said that Kurtis was in the store last week. Take a guess what he bought?"

"Explosives? Bomb-making equipment?"

"You got it. Specifically, Tannerite, an explosive used on shooting ranges."

Chin frowned. "That still doesn't explain how he found Steve out here. We're deep in the Ewa forest reserve. You know what I think about coincidences, so my question is: how was he targeting Steve? Or was this truly random? And why bring a bomb this far out on the trail? Seems like a lot of work to hike all the way up here just to drop it in a backpack. Why not target him at the trailhead?"

"Like I said, cuz, I'm still working on it. I've pulled some officers from HPD to help me out. One is looking at video footage from the Palace to see if anyone was following Steve this week. Another is following up with leads from the BOLO, and a third is checking on Foster's last known residence near Maili." Kono stopped and took a deep breath. "Any word on the bossman?"

"We've got a possible lead, but the 'trail' goes straight down a cliff," Chin said as Danny stuffed another bite of noodles in his mouth. "We're waiting on the climbing gear before we continue, but if it doesn't come soon, Danny may jump down there."

"Speaking of…" Danny said as a procession of search and rescue personnel appeared at the top of the ridge. "They're here. Catch you later, Kono."

"Thanks for the update," Chin said quickly. "Keep us posted. We'll let you know what we find after we rappel down." He packed up the satellite phone before joining Danny, who was watching the guys lay out their equipment.

"What's the plan, Matt?" Danny asked one of the SAR guys as he peered over the edge at the lines that had been dropped down the side of the cliff.

"I'll lay it out for you in 3 simple steps: Step 1: take five steps back from that edge."

Chin chuckled as Danny's ears reddened and the detective backed away obediently.

"Step 2: wait up here while we secure the lines and go down first. Step 3: listen to instructions while we walk you through the rest."

Danny scowled, but Chin laid a hand on his shoulder. "They don't need to do an extra rescue, brah. They'll let us know when they're ready for us." He gestured to one of the backpacks that had been brought up. "Let's finish lunch and re-check our gear."

"Yeah," Danny agreed half-heartedly as the first man disappeared over the edge. He and Chin settled down in the grass under the shade of a tree nearby and opened their backpacks.

"First aid kid?" Danny asked, rummaging through his own pack.

"Got it. Machete?"

"Yup. Emergency blanket?"

"I have two."

"Two?" Danny frowned.

"With you and Steve, I always come prepared," Chin said seriously. "Flashlight?"

"Got it…"

They continued with the inventory and had just finished when Matt made a reappearance. "We're ready for you guys."

Danny stood up and brushed the red dirt from his pants. "About time," he said, shouldering the backpack. "Let's go get our boy."

…

 _Steve lunged for the gun._

 _Mr. Foster pulled the trigger._

There was a loud crack as Kurtis Foster pulled the trigger and something hot seared across Steve's thigh. He stumbled, falling to one knee and sprawled awkwardly across the backpack as Mr. Foster scrambled backwards across the ground and leveled his gun at Steve for a second shot.

Steve froze.

Mr. Foster continued to scoot backwards until he reached the wall, his gun wavering only slightly as he kept it trained on Steve's torso. In such close quarters, Steve knew the second shot wouldn't miss. Hunched over the backpack, he didn't dare move as Foster's finger ghosted over the trigger.

"Lock your feet together," Mr. Foster hissed, gesturing with the gun. "Hands, too."

Steve removed his hand from the backpack, clutching the water bottle as he pushed himself upright and reached for the cuffs.

Mr. Foster shook his head. "After that stunt, you can go without the water. You need a drink, you'll have to wait for morning." He waved the gun in the direction of the door as Steve finished with the cuffs. "Now move."

Leaving the bottle of water on the floor, Steve struggled upright and hobbled obediently toward the door. Mr. Foster backed into the hallway, remaining far out of reach, and directed his prisoner toward his cell.

Steve walked ahead of him and tried to ignore the raw, burned feeling in his throat where the wire had pulled tight against his trachea. Pressing his parched lips together, he pushed the thought of water out of his mind as they continued down the hall in near-darkness.

When they reached the door to his cell, he turned, expecting to go in, but the man behind him shoved him roughly away. "Keep going," he growled. "I'm not through with you yet."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** : **Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed and favorited so far! Your feedback helps make things better. Or I try, anyway. Also special thanks to those who PM'd me about the medical stuff. I'll mention you by name in a later chapter when we get there. Need to do some revisions first.**

 **Short chp. In hindsight, I should have combined chps. 6 and 7. Oh well. I'm also sick, so you may get lucky with 2 updates this weekend, unless the meds knock me out first.**

 **Enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think!**

 **WARNING (mild): light description of whump at the end; if you're squeamish, consider skipping the Steve section.**

…

At the bottom of the cliff, Danny and Chin unbuckled from their harnesses and studied the ledge for clues. The ground and surrounding areas had been trampled by the two search dogs, Officers Kwan and Palani, and the SAR team, but that didn't stop Danny from noticing a few dark spots on the rocks where they had landed.

"Chin," he pointed in a low voice. "I'm pretty sure that's blood."

Chin took a swab and bottled it. "It might not help us find him, but it'll at least tell us who's hurt," he said as he tucked the vial into a pouch and sent it back up the rope.

Danny looked around. From their position just below the cliff he could look out across the valley toward the windward side of the island. It was covered in dense green rainforest for as far as he could see, with sharp ridges rising on the left and right. The sun was already dropping on the far side of the cliff behind him and a gentle wind blew up the slope toward them. Danny shivered. "Cool here in the shade," he muttered.

"You said Steve was just in his swim trunks when he was taken?" Chin asked as they followed the dogs into the forest.

"Yeah, and still wet."

Chin frowned but didn't say anything. They set off into the forest together with the officers, following the dogs which darted back and forth through the trees in front of them.

"He'd better be ok," Danny muttered as they went along. "I'll kill that crazy Neanderthal if he's hurt again."

"I know the feeling, brah," Chin said. "But Steve'll be fine. He's never disappointed us before."

"Yeah," Danny said with a confidence he didn't feel. "You're right. He'll be fine."

…

Deep in the bunker, Steve and Kurtis Foster continued down the hall, past rows of iron doors and a few large, open rooms with dead lights that hung limply from the ceiling and mysterious shadows that lurked in the corners. Steve's feet, both bare since his second flip flop lay forgotten in the room with the dentist chair, were now thoroughly covered in a layer of dark grime and dirt. Another ladder took them to the next floor, much like the one before it, but this time they remained by the ladder while Mr. Foster propped his flashlight against the wall.

"Turn around," Mr. Foster said, pulling another set of handcuffs from his jacket pocket. "You're going to cuff yourself to that ladder."

Steve glared at him with all of the intensity and intimidation that he had learned in the SEALs. "No."

"You'd rather be shot?" Mr. Foster asked.

"My offer to speak with the DA still stands," Steve said, ignoring the man's threats. "You're hurting and you're in pain because your son died. You're angry, you want someone to blame. But," he raised his bound hands, "it doesn't have to end here. Your family needs you- they're hurting just as much as you are. Come back with me and help make this right."

There was a pause in the quiet hallway. Somewhere below them, the steady dripping of water could be heard, its muffled echo a reminder of their isolation. Then Mr. Foster spoke.

"You're right- my family _is_ hurting," he said in a soft voice. "But you seem to be under the impression that they need me. You're wrong." His voice hardened and Steve watched his grip tighten on the gun. "They don't need me- they're better off without me. My wife, Martha- she left me. She lives in Kailua now. Moved to the other side of the island to get away from me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steve said, and he _was_ sorry- sorry for the wife, who had suffered not just the death of her son, but also her husband's subsequent cascade down what was obviously a very dark path. "But if-"

"Sorry?" Mr. Foster barked a short laugh. "You aren't sorry. They train you to say that, don't they? 'Build rapport' and all that. But you're not sorry at all. You don't care- why should you? You've got family, an _ohana_ as the locals say. And you got lucky back there- just a graze judging by your limp. Might not be so lucky this time." He threw the handcuffs and a key at Steve who caught them awkwardly. "You're still hoping someone will come for you. Enjoy that feeling while it lasts."

Steve didn't move. He stood still, holding the cuffs until the man raised the gun and pointed it at his face.

"You've got five seconds to get your hands on that ladder," Foster continued. "One… Two…"

Angry, but with no recourse except obedience, Steve quickly cuffed his sore right hand to the rung by his head. The blood had begun to clot around the area where his nails should have been and the fingertips were stained bright red. The sight of it pulled the pain out of the mental box where he had stuffed it, and he quickly looked away. Facing the ladder, he cuffed his left hand to the same rung.

In his present position, he was unable to see completely behind him, regardless of how far he turned his head. The dark opening to the level below him yawned between his feet, forcing him to lean heavily against the ladder to stay balanced. He wiped his bare feet nervously on the damp concrete. "Well?" he asked, his voice bouncing hollowly back to him, another reminder that he was far removed from any help. "What now?"

Mr. Foster didn't answer.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to the well-wishes! I was going to post the next chapter while I was sick. Then I saw the to-do list I wrote while on meds: "Send emails, empty dishwasher, whales." Whales? What the heck? Anyway, figured it was best to read the final chapter draft** ** _after_** **the drugs left my system. Which I think they have.**

 **Also, thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. You guys are awesome! I browsed some of the other categories on here while I was sick and I have to say- the Five-0 community seems like the absolute best. So many other authors for other TV-shows and movies have invested so much time and effort into their stories, but only have a handful of reviews.**

 **WARNING: description of violence/torture. If you want to skip around, here's the layout:**

 **-1. Kono scene, 2. Steve scene, 3. Danny/Chin scene, 4. Steve scene**

Mrs. Martha Foster sat quietly in the conference room and waited on the young Hawaiian officer who had ushered her in a few minutes before. She hadn't understood why the young woman wanted her to come down to the 5-0 office- she had already answered several questions earlier and surely any further questions could be answered over the phone?- but the officer had insisted, so here she was.

"Mrs. Foster, I'm Officer Kalakaua," the officer said as she entered the room with a file folder and a laptop and sat down next to her at the table.

"Pleasure to meet you," the older woman said respectfully. "Is this about Kurtis? We're divorced now and I'm not bailing him out again for public intoxication. I told him so the last time they called me down. Although last time, I had to go to the police station and not this place," she said, her eyes roaming the expansive office, furnishings, and bright windows.

"What can you tell me about your ex-husband, Mrs. Foster?"

"Well," Mrs. Foster sighed, "our son's death hit him hard. Colin was such a bright, eager boy, and Kurtis may not have said it often, but he was proud of that boy. He was heartbroken when we got the news that Colin had been killed." Mrs. Foster dabbed her eyes briefly with a tissue.

"How did he handle his son's death?" Officer Kalakaua asked gently.

"Not well. He held on for a while, at least until the body was shipped back and we could have a proper funeral. But then he started drinking, staying out late. It affected his work- he was an engineer for Tildwell Solutions- and they let him go a few months later. They offered him a decent early retirement package and all, it was very generous of them, but he still took it hard."

"What happened then?"

"We divorced. He was spending all the money on alcohol and… well, other things." She gave the officer a sad smile. "I hated to kick him out, but he became so… violent and… unpredictable. He would lash out at me and the house. He smashed our last family photo- tossed it right through the front window. I told him to get help, but he refused. He always thought he could handle everything on his own. I worried what would happen if he were in a mood one day when I had my granddaughter over. There's just no reasoning with him when he gets in one of his moods, and it frightened me. That's when I finally kicked him out."

"Do you know where he lives now?"

"No," Mrs. Foster shook her head. "He was in and out of some bad motels for a while, and then he ended up in one of those homeless beach camps, I think at Hau'ula. He would show up now and then for money, but I finally told him no. He got sober for a while after that. Got a small apartment up in Maili. Came around again, asked if I would have him back. I asked if he would go to counseling with me to help with Colin's death. He refused. That was a little over a month ago and it was the last time I saw him until just recently."

Mrs. Foster waited while the officer jotted a few notes and typed something into the little laptop that she had brought with her. She looked around the room again and admired the rich colors and careful attention to detail. It was far nicer than the lockup where she had picked Kurtis up before.

"Can I ask you a question, dear?" she asked after several minutes. "Why is 5-0 asking about Kurtis? Has he done something?"

Officer Kalakaua gave her a quick, sad smile. "Mrs. Foster, can you tell me about your husband- sorry, ex-husband's- hobbies?"

Mrs. Foster noticed that the young woman didn't answer her question. "Well, he was an engineer. He loved taking things apart and putting them back together. Before… everything… he always had some project he was working on, usually a broken piece of electronics or machinery he had picked up here or there. He had a workshop in the basement where he would tinker and fiddle until he could get those things working again."

"Did any of his projects involve explosives?"

The question caught Mrs. Foster by surprise. "Explosives? Oh, no dear. Now Colin, he always did enjoy fireworks and chemistry and that sort of thing. He ended up doing that for the army, you know. I think his interest sparked a little curiosity in Kurtis, but none of his projects ever involved explosives of any kind." A strange fear began to build up inside as she considered the question. "Kurtis may have had a temper, but he would never hurt anyone, I'm sure."

"Ma'am, you said earlier that you divorced him over fears that he would hurt your granddaughter," Officer Kalakaua pointed out.

"Well yes," Mrs. Foster began to protest, "but he… he wouldn't…" She stopped at the serious look on the officer's face. "Oh dear, what has he done?"

…

Handcuffed to the ladder and unable to see what Mr. Foster was doing behind him, Steve wiped his bare feet nervously on the damp concrete. "Mr. Foster? What now?"

The answer was a sharp _crack_ and a fierce pain across his shoulders. Caught by surprise, Steve's cry was muffled as he gasped sharply.

 _Crack!_ The next blow fell across his left shoulder and arm. Steve gritted his teeth and bunched his muscles together, flinching only slightly when the third blow fell. Then came a reprieve.

"Mr. Foster?" Steve tensed and shifted, trying to make out anything in the darkness behind him. "Mr. Foster, talk to me. I want to- _nngh!_ " The stroke landed in his lower back, a long, fiery lash that throbbed angrily with each breath he took.

But he hardly had time to breathe as another blow landed, and then another, and another, one after the other in rapid succession, each fiercer and more violent than the one before. No amount of clenching his teeth would work- Steve cried out involuntarily, then screamed in agony as the lashes tore the skin and left fiery lines between his shoulders.

And then it stopped.

Steve froze. Blood ran down his back and along his board shorts and dripped slowly onto the floor between his feet. His chest rose and fell silently as he braced for the next blow, but the hallway behind him was suddenly quiet.

…

After nearly an hour of jungle trekking, the leading SAR handler pulled up suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Danny asked, reaching automatically for his sidearm.

"This is as far as we can go," Kwan replied and pointed to the remains of a rusted barbed wire fence that lay trapped beneath a fallen eucalyptus tree.

Danny stepped closer and read the faded sign attached to the barbed wire. "Danger- No Trespassing- US Military." He looked over the fence as the jungle continued to descend the slope into the valley below. It seemed just as dense and green and, well, _normal_ , as the jungle behind him. "Huh."

"The rest of this valley is owned by the US Army," Chin commented, looking up from his map.

"Let me guess- we need a warrant," Danny huffed in frustration.

"I'll get on the phone with the governor," Chin offered. "Maybe he can fast-track some kind of access permission for us."

Danny shook his head. "Not enough time. We need to keep going, now, before the dogs loose the scent."

"You may not need a warrant with your 5-0 immunity," Officer Kwan pointed out, "but HPD officers aren't protected the same way. I can't go any further without some kind of permission." Officer Palani and the two search and rescue personnel nodded at this statement.

Danny frowned. He was already frustrated with the time they had lost during their failed trip to the small gun turret on the ridge that afternoon. As the sky dimmed toward evening and the scent became harder for the dogs to follow, his anxiety had ratcheted up several notches and he now paced angrily back and forth by the barbed wire as the others looked on.

"Look, my partner is out there," he growled, pointing in the direction the dogs had been headed. "My partner was taken at bombpoint, forced on a death march through this god-forsaken jungle, and is probably wounded or dying!" Danny waved his hands in frantic agitation. "I can't wait for a warrant. If you all want to sit here and let one of Hawaii's finest die, then fine, go ahead, that's on you." He would have continued his rant, but Chin took him by the arms and led him a little bit away from the group.

"Danny, we can't ask HPD to cross that line with us," Chin pointed out quietly. "They may know Steve and like him, but they aren't ohana, and we can't expect them to risk their careers over this."

"And we can't wait for permission!" Danny said in mild exasperation.

"I know that. Listen to what I'm saying," Chin explained patiently and repeated his previous statement. "They can't cross that line _with us_." He paused while his words sank in.

"Oh." Danny looked back at the dogs, then forward where the trail disappeared into the understory. "But how can we follow…?"

"I've grown up hiking these hills and I'm a fairly skilled tracker. I've been watching the trail and Steve has been leaving us little signs- a small rock here, a broken branch there. We can track them without the dogs. Not as fast, maybe, but it _can_ be done."

Danny stared at him. Then he looked back at the two dogs which were sniffing eagerly along the ground by the fence. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"And he left clues?"

For an answer, Chin pointed to the broken tip of a vine dangling just on the other side of the barbed wire.

Danny snorted. "Of course Super Seal managed to leave us clues. What do you want to bet we find him after he's already taken down Foster and disarmed the bomb?"

"I'd be willing to place some money on that," Chin said seriously.

Danny rolled his eyes and looked back again at the officers and dogs waiting near the downed barrier. "What about the supplies they're carrying? If we find him and it's bad…?" He left the question unfinished.

"Kill the bad guy, grab our man, and get heck out of Dodge, as you would put it," Chin stated simply. "The SAR team can wait here with most of the supplies. If we get too far in, we'll have to figure something else out, but I'll leave that planning to Kono. She can have an air evac team on standby with the SAR crew. By the time we get to Steve, permission to access the area may have come through and they can help with the rescue. I have a feeling that we're close."

Danny finally nodded.

"Good. I'll call Kono with an update." Dropping his backpack onto the leaves, Chin dug out the SAT phone and placed the call. "We've got a slight change in plans, cuz," he said when she picked up. "Steve and Foster crossed over to US Army property and HPD and the dogs can't follow. We're going to follow the trail on foot, but I want to know where he might be headed. We also need permission for a SAR crew to enter the area and meet us after we find him."

"On it," Kono said and they heard her typing away in the background. "Ok, you're on an extensive piece of property that the Army uses for jungle warfare training exercises. I'll see if I can get a map of the area and list of structures for you."

"That would be great," Danny said over Chin's shoulder.

"Also, while I have you guys- I think I have the connection to Steve. Colin's mother brought in his laptop and Jerry got us past his security. He and the boss have been exchanging emails for years."

"Really?" Danny and Chin exchanged a glance. "Why?"

"Apparently the bossman went to some kind of career day at Kalani High a few years back. One of the kids- Colin Foster- was inspired to enlist after hearing Steve's talk. Colin settled on the Army instead of Navy, but he continued to email Steve throughout training and deployments, up until his last mission when he was captured and killed."

"Anything in there to indicate why the father is targeting Steve? Why not target Colin's CO or the men in his troop?"

"Not sure. The emails are mostly just advice and guidance about different situations Colin encountered. Everything from trying to decide which branch to choose, to how to approach his CO about a problem with another soldier in his unit. And he talked about having doubts and fears before his first deployment, his excitement over his marriage, how to handle long-distance relationships… nothing big or unusual."

"There must be some reason," Danny insisted.

"I hear you. Martha, Kurtis's wife, was shocked to hear what her husband had done. According to her, Kurtis had a temper but would never willingly hurt anyone."

"Regardless of what she thinks, we need to assume that Kurtis is armed and highly dangerous. We need any information she has on her husband's whereabouts recently, skill sets, last known residence, hobbies, favorite hiking trails… anything that could help us find Steve," Chin said into the phone.

"Already on it. From the traffic footage, we do know that Kurtis was tracking the boss for at least the past week, maybe longer. We've got him on multiple traffic cams at the Palace, out by Kamekona's shrimp truck, near Steve's house, and even at the Save-a-Lot down the road from Steve's place. Danny, where were you when you decided to go on today's trip with him and Grace?"

"At Kamekona's, eating lunch," Danny said. Then he smacked himself in the head. "Damn, how did we not notice him before?"

"He wasn't someone you would notice. He probably looked like a beach bum, like any one of the dozens of men out there that we see every day without really noticing. He would have been able to listen in without standing out."

Danny sighed. "Okay, thanks for the update, Kono," he said, although he still felt like he had more questions than answers. "Get us that info on this property as soon as you can, okay? We need to get moving."

"On it. I'll keep you posted." And with that, Kono hung up.

…

"You can take the easy way out." Kurtis Foster's voice broke the silence in the dark bunker. He paced back and forth in the narrow hallway behind his prisoner, who was fastened to the ladder by both wrists. Steve followed his position by the sound of his footsteps: two right, two left. Two right, two left. He focused on the noise of each footstep, the slight _scrtch_ of dirt under the sole of the shoe, the _wsssht_ as the man turned on his heel at the end of each round. A sharp _crack_ filled the air and Steve flinched, but the blow landed on the wall beside him. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold metal rung as Mr. Foster continued to speak. "You don't have to suffer, Commander McGarrett. You have a choice."

There was another sharp _crack_ and a stinging blow landed on Steve's legs. He didn't move, suppressing the pain as he focused his energy elsewhere. He listened to the footsteps. Two right, two left. Then a pause as the man prepared to deliver another blow. Steve tensed.

The blow landed on his left side, just below the shoulder blade. He hissed and inhaled sharply as he felt the skin split and a new trickle of warm blood oozed down his back.

From the darkness behind him, Mr. Foster spoke. "Give up. Just say the word and I'll put you out of your misery. It's more than anyone did for my son."

Steve, listening intently, could hear him pacing again. "Have _you_ given up, Mr. Foster?" Steve asked in a hoarse voice.

"The world gave up on me," came the response from the darkness.

"So you want me to give up on the world? To lose all hope, just like you?" Steve shifted his weight to his right leg as the pain from the bullet graze flared again. "Or are you hoping to draw things out long enough that my partner will get here and put you out of your misery? Suicide by cop?"

There was no response except another crack. This time, the lash curled around his face, barely missing his eye and leaving a long streak across his neck and cheek. He jerked his head away and winced as the next blow caught his feet.

"Your son was a brave and courageous man, Mr. Foster. It wasn't in his nature to give up," Steve tried again. "I can tell you this: even if the ISIS militants had offered your son the option of a quick and easy death, he would have turned it down. He would have clung to hope and life until the very end."

The pacing behind him stopped. Steve tensed, waiting, then cried out as several brutal blows were inflicted swiftly, one after the other. The lashes fell haphazardly on his already-battered torso, with a stray blow sometimes finding his arms or his legs or his feet. As the final blow caught his left leg, he stumbled and fell into the hole where the ladder dropped through the floor, only to be caught by the cuffs around his wrists. A sharp pain that shot through his left wrist and his own strangled cry told him something had just been sprained.

"Get up!"

A short flick of the lash caught Steve in the side as he hung from the ladder.

"Up, up, UP!" Foster screamed at him, this time kicking him in the ribs under the arm.

With a groan, Steve pulled himself up and repositioned his feet on the damp, grimy floor on either side of the ladder. Then he rested his head on the metal rung and gripped it tightly, panting as his heart pounded and dizziness threatened to take him down again. Behind him, he heard the familiar pattern again: step, step turn. Step, step turn. A _crack_ as the whip found its target on his back. Steve jerked. Step, step turn.

"I told Colin not to enlist. I begged him to stay. Martha and I both did."

Step, step, turn. _Crack._

"We could pay to send him to college. He was a bright boy- he had choices. So many choices."

Step, step turn. _Crack._

"When I realized he was set on the military, I asked him to choose the air force. It would have been safer for him, up there, than on the ground."

Step, step, turn. _Crack_.

"But you… you made him change his mind."

"Any decision Colin made was his own," Steve gritted out through clenched teeth. It was becoming very hard to focus, hard to concentrate on anything except the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. "You've read our emails. You know that- _aggh!_ " He lurched, shuddering as a heavy blow split a new line of skin along his side.

" _You_ influenced him! _You_ made him enlist. _You_ didn't dissuade him, didn't push him to find another career. His death is _your_ fault! It." _Crack_. "Is." _Crack_. "Your." _Crack._ "Fault." _Crack._

Steve couldn't stop the scream that was wrenched from him by the last four blows. He stumbled, listing heavily to one side. "What…about…" He struggled to draw a breath. "What about… your granddaughter?" he wheezed out as he forced himself slowly upright.

"Leave my granddaughter out of this!"

"She needs you, Mr. Foster." Steve tried to inhale deeply, but was stopped by a sharp pain in his left side. He wondered if Foster's kick had done more than bruise his ribs. "What… will she say later…. about you?" Steve gasped for air, unable to quite draw a full breath. "That you gave up on her? That… that you took the easy way out?" Steve was pushing, hoping that Kurtis would hear him. "Who will help her remember… her father? Her mother has some photos…" He drew another ragged breath and struggled ahead as Foster made no reply, "and videos and stories, but you- you raised Colin." Steve paused to inhale carefully. "You made Colin the man that he was. Who will tell her and show her about her father?"

It was now silent in the bunker except for the intermittent dripping of water and rough breathing of Steve as he fought the waves of pain that threatened to overwhelm him. Buried far underground in the forgotten structure, the two men were quite alone. Steve could feel the tension and the internal war raging in the man behind him, and he waited patiently, not wanting to disturb the relative calm that had now settled between them.

Then Kurtis Foster drew a harsh breath and Steve sensed a subtle shift in the battle of wills. Mentally preparing himself for the worst, Steve made one last attempt.

"What do you want, Mr. Foster? You have a choice, and it's not too late to make things right."

For a moment, immediately after speaking those words, Steve regretted it and wondered if he had made a mistake. He heard the familiar pacing of the shoes again, the sharp turn in the step, and the pause that usually preceded a blow, and he flinched.

But the blow never came. Instead, the brutal instrument was dropped on the floor and Mr. Foster slid down against the wall with a sob.

"I want… I want… Oh god, I want my son back," he moaned pitifully. "My beautiful, brilliant boy…"

 **...**

 **A/N** \- **Hope that's okay. Let me know if I've forgotten something. Benedryl does not love me.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N- Sorry for the delay in posting. I had no intentions of taking a 3-week hiatus, but, in my defense, I haven't done much except sleep and eat soup. And take lots of guaifenesin. Ugh, nasty-tasting stuff. Starting to feel back to normal a bit and now have to get caught up on work. I wish I could make writing my priority, but, sadly, it doesn't pay the bills.**

…

Danny often said that Steve had faces. Steve had certainly heard his partner mention aneurism face and smitten face a handful of times. The teasing him about his 'kicked puppy face' had been annoying as well, and then Danny had ranted incessantly for a week about Steve's 'classified SEAL' face. Now, bruised and bloody, Steve wondered what his partner would call this face. _This is my 'Where the hell are you, Danny?' face_ , Steve thought as he clung wearily to the ladder. _Where the hell are you, and what is taking so damn long?_ It wasn't a great name for a face, but Steve wasn't one for being creative, especially not at the moment. He needed a distraction from his current situation, something to keep his mind off the pain and the dark thoughts lurking under the surface.

During the events of North Korea, Steve had learned what it meant to feel afraid, abandoned, and alone. In the truck, after being recaptured, he had assumed he would die in that hostile country and no one would ever know. How _could_ they know? Where would they even begin to look? He would die horribly at the hands of Wo Fat, his body left to rot in the jungle for decades, abandoned just like Freddy. Beaten and battered, with little to no strength remaining, he had surrendered himself to this reality, and so, when Danny had lifted the flap and climbed onto the truck, Steve's first words had not been "Hello" or "Mahalo" but rather "Danny?", a question, because he did not quite believe that his brother had come for him.

Contrary to what Foster said, Steve knew what it was like to lose hope. Steve understood where Foster was, mentally. Foster was on that truck, deep in the North Korean jungle, afraid to hope, afraid that any possibility of happiness in life would be snatched away prematurely, just like his son

Steve understood Foster, but understanding didn't make his current situation any easier.

Instead, it left Steve angry. No, more than that- he was pissed. He wanted to punch something- preferably Foster- until he broke.

Somewhat to his surprise, Steve found that he was also angry at Danny. _What the hell was his partner doing? He was certainly taking his sweet time getting here._ Logically- whatever tiny bit of logic he still possessed- he knew this was unfair: Danny would move heaven and earth to find him and wouldn't rest until Steve had been found. In a distinct improvement over the situation in North Korea, Steve had no doubts that his partner was on the way and would, in fact, find him. Unlike Foster, Steve had cause for hope. The fact that he hadn't been rescued yet indicated just how remote the bunker was and how well it was hidden.

A tremor shook his body and Steve stopped all other thoughts to deal with the problems of staying conscious and upright. He wasn't sure how long he had been standing by the ladder, but his body's need to rest was abundantly clear. Gritting his teeth, Steve focused on his endurance training from BUDs and SERE training years ago. _Survive until rescue_ \- that was all he had to do. _Hold out until Danny comes._ He just hoped his conversation with Foster had bought him enough time.

 _Speaking of…_ Steve turned his head. He could barely make out Foster's silhouette slouched against the wall to his right and the glint of a small flask propped against the wall near the flashlight. The man had been quiet now for a while. Steve wasn't sure if Foster was awake or asleep, and he had no desire to find out.

Although the abuse had ended for the moment, other thoughts lingered in Steve's mind. _What if Danny had trouble finding the bunker? What if he wasn't even nearby? What if help was still hours- or even days- away?_ Although Steve didn't want to think about it, he knew these were scenarios he needed to consider. Despite his training, his body was in rapid decline, his last reserves expiring with every short breath he took. He was running out of time. He needed a plan.

Another wave of pain shook his body and he clenched the ladder tightly, air hissing between his teeth as he exhaled. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the cool, metal rungs and tried to focus. He needed to lure Foster in. He needed something that would bring the man close enough that he could trap Foster between his legs and incapacitate him. He needed…

But then Steve's legs slipped and he stumbled sideways as he nearly blacked out. Barely catching himself from falling, he froze as the handcuff clanged loudly against the metal rung. Between the hard, concrete walls, the sound was magnified, echoing deafeningly though the bunker. Steve cursed silently, inwardly seething at his body's betrayal.

Behind him, Mr. Foster stirred.

Moving stiffly, the man capped the small flask and dropped it into a pocket. Then he pushed himself laboriously up and away from the wall and approached Steve, stopping just out of reach. Steve watched warily as Foster's eyes swept over his body, lingering on his torso. _Admiring your handiwork,_ Steve thought, but didn't dare say it aloud. Foster fumbled inside his jacket for his gun, then pulled a small key from his pants pocket. Pressing the key into Steve's hand, he gestured for his prisoner to unlock the cuffs. "Let's go," was all he said.

…

Deep in the forest, Danny followed patiently behind Chin as the older detective scoured the damp ground in the fading light for clues. It was rapidly approaching dusk and they had stopped only once, briefly, for a snack before pressing on through the forest. So far, they had encountered no one and so sign of anyone except the two men whom they were tracking. As darkness encroached and the rainforest birds whistled their evening songs, Chin pulled out a flashlight to help him find the subtle clues that had been left behind in the dirt and on the trees. Their progress slowed to an agonizing crawl.

"About the bet," Danny finally asked while waiting for Chin to finish studying a green leaf dangling from a bush nearby, "were you serious?"

Chin stopped and eyed the detective quizzically. "Danny, Steve has been kidnapped and strapped with a bomb. Speaking from personal experience, that's no laughing matter."

Seeing his friend's face, a horrified expression dawned as Danny realized Chin was thinking back to the incident with Hesse not that long ago. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to… I mean, hell, Chin, what you went through… this is just…" He sighed and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "It's uh…. it's how I…"

"It's how you cope," Chin finished for him.

"Yeah." Danny threaded his fingers through his hair nervously. "If it were Grace, this would be totally different, but this is Super SEAL we're talking about. With Grace, when Peterson had her, I didn't have time to think. He kept giving me instructions and I had to follow them. But this, all the waiting, the standing around, the hiking through the forest, no clue how long we'll be out here, I can't help thinking and those thoughts…" Danny heaved a sigh. "Well, they aren't always good thoughts." Danny kicked a rock angrily to vent some of his worries. He hadn't opened up this much, not even to Steve, about the stress he incurred while following his crazy partner around. Looking at Chin, he was surprised to see a sympathetic smile.

"We all cope with stress different ways, Danny: you rant and get sarcastic, Kono surfs, and Steve swims. And about the bet…" Chin pushed a bush aside and swatted another leafy stem with his machete. "We've seen Steve in action countless times, but I don't think any of us fully know what he's capable of. I think he'll find a way out before we get to him."

"I dunno… he's gotten into a few scrapes before where he needed help getting out," Danny said, with the North Korean incident in mind. "And there's always the issue of him never having backup."

Chin pulled up as they broke into a clearing that bordered on a small stream. "So, to be clear, you are betting _against_ your boss and partner, the ex-Navy SEAL?" he asked as he wiped the machete clean and carefully returned it to its leather case.

Danny shrugged. "Sure. $10 says he needs us to pull his sorry hide out of trouble again."

"$10?" Chin scoffed. Seeing Danny relax slightly as he joked, he decided to go along with it, even if it was in poor taste. "Grace probably has more than that in her piggy bank."

"Okay, $20. And Grace does not have a piggy bank- that's old fashioned. She has a savings account."

Chin shook his head. "Forty or it isn't worth it."

Danny hesitated. "Fine," he said at length. "$40 says Steve needs us to haul him out."

Chin grinned. "This is going to be the easiest money I've ever made. Plus, Steve is going to be furious when he finds out you bet against him. That reaction by itself will be priceless."

" _Pff_ \- Steve and I are like brothers!" Danny protested. "He'll be fine with it."

Chin shook his head. "If you say so, brah." He turned his attention back to the creek. Narrow and cold, it splashed between dark rocks under the canopy of trees before turning sharply to the right and falling over a cascade and out of sight. "I've got tracks," he said, crouching down in the dirt.

"Steve and Foster?" Danny asked, coming alongside him.

"And a wild boar," Chin said, pointing to a hoof print in the mud. "Probably down here for the mountain apple," he said, picking up a hard, green fruit from the ground.

"Did they cross the creek?" Danny asked, following carefully behind him. He tried to see each sign as Chin pointed them out, but some were too subtle for him to distinguish from the normal messiness of nature.

"Looks that way," Chin said, still following. "Huh." He stopped and pointed at one set of footprints in the mud. "Looks like Steve lost a sandal."

Following his finger, Danny saw two clear prints beside the stream, one shod and the other a bare footprint. "Crap. Wonder when that happened?" He followed Chin across the creek and waited while the older detective scoured the creek bank for an indication of the direction that the pair had taken next. The stream flowed close to the base of a steep ridge that blocked any further progress in the direction they had been taking. The only options, from what Danny could see, were to turn left or right along the creek.

"This way," Chin said, heading away from the stream. "They entered this thicket," he said, pulling out his machete as the faint tracks he was following disappeared into a dense mess of thick plants.

Danny mimicked him, batting away at the tight mess of young tree-like plants that clogged the understory. "Where the heck does Foster think he's going?" he asked in frustration as one of the plants became tangled in his backpack straps. Then he saw that Chin had stopped. "Oh."

A dark, moss-covered concrete structure had materialized out of the jungle in front of them. Slick concrete walls, now covered in vines and leafy debris, rose about ten feet in the air before disappearing into the cliff that hovered overhead. Pressing forward, Chin found the remains of an old road and followed it around the corner to a steel door. He drew his weapon. Danny did the same. Chin raised 3 fingers and counted down. Then he kicked the door.

…

(A little earlier)

The trip back to the cell was a silent affair. Mr. Foster had said not spoken since giving Steve the key to the cuffs binding him to the ladder. Unwilling to risk his health further, and unable to safely do anything else, Steve made no attempts break the silence.

The dark hallway was quiet except for the light _clink_ of the restraints between Steve's feet. Even without the shackles, he would have moved slowly. His muscles and joints were sore and stiff after hours of abuse and he moved now only with great reluctance, his legs trembling with every step. Mr. Foster stood in the doorway and kept the gun and a flashlight trained on him as Steve crossed the room to the ancient, lumpy mattress in the corner. The cuts and lashes on his chest, legs, and back pulled uncomfortably as he crouched on the floor and slowly attached the chain in the wall around his ankle. The clang of the door echoed in the empty hallway as Mr. Foster left and bolted the door behind him.

Steve maneuvered himself carefully onto the mattress to assess the damage. Every movement he made hurt, his hand and damaged fingers throbbed painfully, and his entire back felt as though someone had set it on fire. Although his hair and swim trunks were mostly dry, a damp chill pervaded the bunker and goosebumps stood out in sharp relief on his skin. A cursory check showed that some of the cuts and welts and wounds had stopped bleeding and Steve knew that most would eventually heal with time. His hand was another matter, but there was little that he could do to remedy that now.

Pressing gently under his arm, he hissed when he felt the bruising along his ribs where Foster had kicked him. The ribs didn't seem to be broken, but he was betting they were at least cracked. For a moment, he considered ripping the mattress up to bind them, but then he realized it would only add to the likely infection of the wounds on his back. Although he couldn't be certain, there was a warmth there that he couldn't account for, especially given the temperature in the bunker.

Steve sighed wearily and moved on to his legs. With numb fingers, he pulled at his swim trunks, exposing the rip where the bullet had torn through the fabric earlier. In the dark, he probed the area with his fingers. The wound stung and burned still, but appeared to be only superficial- a graze that, with treatment, would hopefully only crease his skin with a new scar. Holding his good hand over the wound, Steve could feel heat radiating off the sore and inflamed skin. Still, as with his hand, there was nothing he could do about it here.

A sudden bout of dizziness caused Steve to throw his arm out as he tilted sideways onto the mattress. As he propped himself up and tried to get his bearings, he knew he had a choice to make. He could either continue to work at chipping away the concrete surrounding the rebar- and waste what precious little strength he had left in the process- or he could rest and hope that Danny would come for him sooner rather than later.

Steve turned his head subconsciously toward the exposed rebar in the wall. Between the damage done to his back and his hand and the wound to his leg, he wasn't sure how much work he could actually accomplish on the concrete. Realizing this didn't leave him much of a choice, Steve carefully pulled the tattered swimsuit back over the wound in his leg. Shivering, he laid down carefully on his side and curled up on the mattress, his right hand clutched protectively to his chest. A few minutes later, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

 **A/N: if I missed something, let me know. I wrote parts of this while sick, so I'm not feeling good about its place and fit with the rest of the story. Looking forward to a much better week this week!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** : **This exact bunker may not exist, but similar bunkers do. I did take some license to modify it to fit what I needed. If you're bored one day, search for the abandoned hospital bunker on Oahu that this bunker is loosely based on. Fascinating stuff.**

 **No warning needed for this chapter except one cuss word. Enjoy!**

 _Chin kicked the door_.

The heavy steel door didn't move. Chin kicked again, just above the lock, with no effect. Stepping back, he then rushed the door and threw himself against it, shoving his shoulder against damp metal surface. The impact sent a deep _clang_ through the forest and a flock of birds scattered into the air over their location.

"Well, if Foster didn't know we were here before, he knows now," Danny commented drily, eyeing the birds.

"I think it's barred on the inside," Chin said. He leaned one ear to the door and began tapping methodically on different parts of the steel. "We can't break in this way without a battering ram or a welding torch."

"McGarrett probably has one of those in his trunk," Danny said drily.

"A battering ram?"

"A welding torch. And maybe a battering ram, too. With him, who knows." Danny set his backpack down and pulled out the sat phone. "It's getting dark and we're running out of time- I'm calling Kono. Anything she has is better than noth- speak of the devil!"

The screen lit up with an incoming call.

Danny answered. "Please tell me you have something," he said by way of greeting but rushed on before she could reply. "We found what appears to be an old bunker, and the trail runs straight to it, but it's barred from the inside."

"Is it near a stream?" Kono asked.

Chin and Danny exchanged a look. "Yes."

"Good, then we're on the same page." They could hear her working the smartboard in the background. "Ok, so the bunker was initially built as a storage unit for hospital supplies, but when the military became spooked by the idea of a Japanese invasion, they added a two-level gun battery on top of the already 3-level storage bunker. Due to its difficult location on the ridge and the progress of the war overseas, guns were never installed after the battery levels were completed. The door near the stream enters the storage section of the bunker."

"Well, that way is blocked," Danny said. "Is there another way in?"

"I'm getting there. I have some heavily redacted files on the bunker, so I'm not entirely sure about the layout, but most other gun batteries on Oahu feature a long, open window area from which the battery commander could view the enemy and relay firing instructions. From what I can tell, the 'window' for your bunker is about 50 or 60 feet up the ridge, but on the opposite side from where the lower entrance is located."

"Wait, the bunker is built inside the ridge?" Danny asked as he stepped back and looked at the steep cliff face towering over them. He and Chin began to make their way east around the edge of the tall hill, scouring the rocks for the gun battery or a way up to it. "How did Foster even find this place?" he wondered, holding the phone to his ear as he jogged along behind Chin.

"That's where things get interesting. While Foster was an engineer for Tildwell in the 70's, the army began working on repurposing or selling off the land and structures it had amassed during the Second World War. Oahu is littered with old bunkers, batteries, and other installations that they left behind. The army was trying to assess whether the bunkers were still useful, or whether decades of neglect had rendered the structures useless. They outsourced the inspections to a firm here in Honolulu…"

"Let me guess: Tildwell," Danny interrupted.

"You got it," Kono said. "Foster inspected twenty-three different structures for the army between 1975 and 1978 when the army ended its refurbishment program. At that point, funding for the bunker restoration project dried up, and since that particular bunker was so remote, the army locked the doors and turned the area into a remote jungle warfare training ground."

"That explains the shell casings," Danny said, holding up a battered piece of brass that he had scuffed up in the dirt. "Doesn't look like anyone has been up this way in a while, though."

"Probably not. The only road to the bunker washed out in a landslide in 2005."

"So if Steve needs medical help, we're screwed?"

"I've got a Medivac chopper on standby," Kono said. "And the governor called. He said he has an army rep who can escort you to the bunker from the main gate in the valley."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," Danny muttered. He stopped just behind Chin, who was studying the map again under the beam of his flashlight. "So let me get this straight: when Foster's son died, he started plotting revenge and settled on Steve-"

"And we still haven't figured that part out completely," Kono said, "but I have people working on it."

"Good," Danny said distractedly as Chin dug out a pair of binoculars and studied the cliff face above them. "So Foster is trailing Steve, looking for the perfect opportunity to strike, and that's when Steve and I plan our swimming trip with Grace in the mountains. Foster overhears everything, remembers that there's a bunker in the area, and puts his plan- whatever it is- into motion."

"That sounds about right."

Danny sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. "Did you learn anything else from his wife? Hobbies, bomb-making skills, plans, anything?"

"Not much that's useful, but I have a better idea of his character."

"Ok," Danny said as Chin put the binoculars away and they began to hike again. "Enlighten me."

"From what I can tell, Mr. Foster was a very controlling man who wanted things in life to be a very particular way."

"Gee, that sounds familiar," Danny huffed in a wry voice as he followed Chin uphill. It was hard to see in the dim light and the moon was not full enough to penetrate the thick overstory of trees. He cursed as he tripped over several roots that sprawled across the trail, but managed to maintain his grip on the SAT phone.

"Mrs. Foster claims he wouldn't hurt a fly, but she is a very forgiving woman who loves her husband deeply and wants him to come back to her. Colin's life as an only child was a life of endless love and adoration from both parents. From what I can gather, he felt a bit smothered at home, from both the love and the controlling nature of his father, so he finally decided to enlist as a way to escape and see the world. Mr. Foster wasn't pleased with his son's decision, but his mood changed as his son moved up through the ranks. Apparently he was pleased that his son's promotions gave him something new to be proud about."

"How well did he take Colin's marriage?"

"He approved of his son's choice of wife, so no conflict there. In his eyes, his son could do no wrong, but Colin's career choice always bothered him as it placed his son far away from his sphere of influence and outside of his direct control. Colin's death is also an issue of control- namely, it is something that Mr. Foster had absolutely no control over. His anger at Steve may be due to Steve's influence on Colin's career choice and the fact that Colin listened to Steve over the advice of his own father."

"You got all that from interviewing Mrs. Foster?" Danny asked in disbelief.

Kono laughed lightly. "No, I called a friend of mine who does profiling and asked her for help."

"Oh. Less impressed, then, but still very well done." Danny stopped as he saw Chin gesture quickly with one hand. "I need to let you go," he lowered his voice. "It looks like we may have found the gun battery on top."

Hanging up with Kono, he stood beside Chin who had found an outcrop of rock that poked above the thick tangle of trees in the forest below. "What's up?" Danny asked in a whisper.

Chin pointed at the cliff face above them. Danny squinted. In the evening light, the last pink streaks of sunlight had not quite faded from the sky and everything around them was colored in shades of blue and gray. Looking up the cliff, the trees on the ridge gave way quickly to bushes and shrubs, and eventually just grass and moss clinging to the dark brown volcanic rock. Danny's eyes passed back and forth across the landscape twice before he saw it.

A long, narrow, horizontal opening in the rock.

Vines hung in thick drapes over much of the opening and the concrete had long since become overgrown with heavy moss and lichens, but it was still clearly a man-made structure and fit Kono's description perfectly.

Following Chin's lead, Danny scrambled up the steep hillside after him, searching for purchase among the roots and loose stones. As they neared the opening, both men stopped and drew their weapons. Crouching just underneath the ledge, Danny waited on Chin's signal. Then both men stood and pointed their weapons into the bunker.

…

Steve awoke with a start as the door slammed open against the wall. A vicious headache pounded between his ears as he tried to sit up. Ignoring away the sharp pain that flared across his back, he pushed himself slowly upright and blinked tiredly at the other side of the room. Kurtis Foster stood in the doorway with a flashlight and a water bottle. He threw the bottle to Steve.

"Drink up."

Steve caught it awkwardly and stared at him, then at the bottle in his hands.

"Been thinking about what you said," the older man continued, "and I think you might be right." Kurtis Foster ran a hand absently over his grey-stubbled face as he spoke. "I want to do what's right by my granddaughter. I may have screwed up my marriage, and I don't know if Martha will ever have me back, but my granddaughter… _that_ I can still fix."

Steve unscrewed the cap carefully with his good hand, never taking his eyes off the man. He poured some water over his injured fingers, then drank slowly, savoring the wetness on his parched throat.

"I know there's a long jail sentence ahead of me," Mr. Foster continued, "but if I cooperate and admit to everything, I think that's what Colin would want. And maybe that'll be enough for Martha, too." He rambled on about seeing his wife and granddaughter again, but Steve was no longer listening. He had stopped drinking suddenly as a strange feeling settled in his stomach. Quickly capping the bottle, Steve studied at the lid. " _Son of a…_ " He looked up at Kurtis. "This is poisoned!"

Kurtis Foster shook his head. "It's not poison."

Steve jumped up and threw the water bottle at him with all his might. "You lying son of a bitch! What's in the water?" He lunged at the man, only to be stopped short by the chain around his foot. "What did you give me? What did you do?!"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N- Many thanks for favorites and reviews! Glad so many are still enjoying it over 10 chapters in. Good job to those who guessed the water bottle! Mild language warning for this chapter.**

Kurtis Foster took a step back and dodged the water bottle that was hurled in his direction. It hit the wall and fell to the ground with a dull thud. The man inside the cell threw himself forward, yelling agitatedly about poisoned water, but Kurtis ignored him. He checked his watch and listened again for any noises from the floor below. It shouldn't be too long now…

As the drug kicked in, Commander McGarrett became too weak to stand and sank slowly to the floor. Kurtis tapped his foot impatiently, but he only stepped forward when the man's eyes had closed and the last twitches had stopped. He checked the Commander's pulse, then unlocked the chain from around his foot. Looping both arms under the unconscious man, he lifted him up and dragged him slowly from the room.

…

Chin and Danny surveyed the empty space on the other side of the concrete ledge. Signaling Danny to cover him, Chin holstered his weapon and pulled himself through low profile window, dropping lightly to the floor inside.

Danny's stomach churned at the thought of crawling through the narrow opening, but then he thought of Steve and slid on his stomach across the ledge after Chin. The thin window opened into a fairly large room, musty and mildewed with disuse. As Chin swept the room with his flashlight, the only occupants, a pair of stray cats, fled through a dark doorway into the blackness beyond. Danny squatted on the floor next to Chin.

"You ready?" Danny whispered as he attached the light to his gun.

Chin nodded.

Stepping into the black hallway, they stopped and listened for any sound of the bunker's other occupants. As quickly as they could, they cleared the top floor, which was rather small, and descended the ladder to the fourth level.

"I've got blood," Chin whispered, gesturing to spatter on the floor.

Danny hissed between his teeth as he saw the stained concrete. "Looks like he was cuffed here," he stated, pointing to fresh scratches on the rungs. "What did Foster do to him?"

"Don't think about it," Chin said, shining his light down the corridor. "Just focus on finding them first."

They cleared the fourth level quickly as well when it became apparent from the dust and lack of footprints that Mr. Foster and his prisoner had not progressed beyond the ladder on this level. Returning to the ladder, Danny gave the blood spatter one last glare before he descended to the third level.

Here, the structure of the bunker changed. Instead of several open rooms, they found themselves on a long hall with a series of steel doors. Pushing open the first one, they found a discarded desk, several empty file folders, and some dead rodents. Behind the second, boxes of outdated medical supplies. Behind the third, a stack of old newspapers and several broken desk chairs. The fourth contained nothing more than a cracked wall and water-damaged ceiling.

The fifth door opened with deafening screech. A first glance revealed nothing more than a stained mattress in one corner and another weather-damaged wall. Then Danny noticed the chain attached to the rebar and the blood on the mattress and felt the heat rise in his face. _How often had he called his partner a Neanderthal animal?_ And now here was evidence that Steve had been chained up like one. "I'm going to rip Foster limb to limb when we find him," he growled.

"You'll have to get in line," Chin said darkly. He passed a hand over the lumpy surface of the mattress and looked up, startled. "It's still warm."

"What?"

"Danny, the mattress is still warm. They were just here!" Chin passed his flashlight over the room again but there was nothing else in the small space except a discarded bottle of water near the door. "No indication of where they went, but they must be nearby."

"I'm wondering if we shouldn't go topside and call Kono for SWAT and a Medivac copter," Danny returned, his attention still on the chain in the wall.

A distant clanging brought them both out of the room with guns raised. The sound echoed dully through the corridor, bouncing back and forth between the concrete walls. Danny frowned a silent question at Chin who shrugged in return. With the shoddy acoustics, it was impossible to tell where the noise had originated. With a nod, Chin motioned forward and they continued stealthily along the grimy hallway to the next door.

The next few rooms held nothing of interest. The bunker remained obstinately quiet, unwilling to yield the location of the criminal and his prisoner hiding somewhere within. With only two doors left, one on the left and one on the right, Chin and Danny opted for the right and kicked it in.

The room was lit by a small lantern sitting on a makeshift shelf of old storage crates. A variety of tools were scattered across the crates and Steve's backpack sat in the corner. On the opposite side of the room, a dental chair sprawled in the shadows. Holstering his gun, Chin moved toward the chair, leaving Danny by the crates.

"Base of operations," Danny said in a low voice as he studied the tools and a folder of papers. "But what kind?"

"Torture." Chin pulled out an evidence bag and tweezers and picked up something from the floor beside the chair.

Danny squinted and came closer. "What is that? Is that a..?"

"Fingernail," Chin finished, tucking it into the plastic evidence pouch. "I've got more."

" _Son of a…_ is that more blood?" Danny asked, squatting beside him and eyeing the dark stains on the concrete.

"Looks like it. There's more over there beside the backpack."

Danny moved to the backpack and studied the small pool of blood. "Chin, this looks like a lot more than a few lost fingernails. If I had to guess, I'd say there was a fight or something." Standing, he swept the room with his flashlight and stopped at a flash of brass in the wall. "I've got a bullet." He dug it out and held it up to the light. "Blood on it." He looked around the room again. "Someone was shot here- or grazed, based on the amount."

"But who was it?" Chin asked. "Foster or Steve?"

…

Kurtis Foster froze as voices drifted across the hall and filtered into the cavernous storage room where he now crouched with the unconscious commander. God, the man was heavy! It was taking much longer than he planned but, if the whispers and echoes he heard were any indication, he still had some time to finish.

He cocked an ear, listening carefully. There seemed to only be two of them, which he found surprising given whom he had abducted. His initial thought had been to take both of these cops as well but then he realized there was no point to it. What could he do with them? What purpose could they possibly serve? Nothing good would come of that and so he had resorted to his other plan.

Bending down, he grasped the unconscious man under the arms and dragged him backwards across the ground toward the gaping hole in the floor in the center of the room. Reaching out, he snagged the long chain that hung down through the hole and pulled it toward him. Almost done… He just needed a few more minutes.

…

Danny balled his hand into a fist, struggling to contain his anger at the evidence of the torture his friend had suffered. The folder contained emails between Colin and Steve, and Colin and his father, further evidence that Kono's theory had been correct. More troubling, however, was the ME's report detailing the injuries Colin sustained at the hands of the terrorists and the small, firm checkmarks penciled next to them. After reading the list, Danny could only hope that the few items that were checked were all that Kurtis had done to Steve. What if they had been an hour or two later and Kurtis had progressed to the next item on the list? Danny shuddered.

"Psst!" Chin motioned at him suddenly and drew his weapon. Although he hadn't heard anything, Danny mimicked him and they moved together into the hallway, leaving their flashlights off as they waited for the noise to happen again. But the bunker remained cold and dark and once more silent.

Danny was about to turn away when he heard a slight noise behind the last door. He pointed to Chin and they moved into position. Throwing open the door, Danny burst into the room.

"Five-0!" he shouted, his light flashing across the room. Unlike the other rooms along the hallway, this room was massive, a cavernous hall filled with filing cabinets, furniture, crates, boxes, and other clutter stacked in crumbling, pyramidal piles. For whatever reason, the army had begun clearing out the bunker but never finished.

Danny swept the space slowly with his flashlight. "Detective Danny Williams, 5-0!" he yelled again. "Show yourself!"

From behind one of the stacks of crates, a dark figure jumped out of the shadows and raced across the room. Danny raised his gun, but the person darted back and forth between the piles, making a clear shot impossible. "Stop!" Danny yelled and chased after him, leaping across old crates and running past a massive hole in the floor as he rushed to catch up. The figure wove back and forth, disappearing momentarily behind a pile of desks, then skirting around a cluster of rusting filing cabinets.

"Mr. Foster, we know who you are! Surrender now- running won't help you!" Danny called out, but the man ran on.

"Danny!" Chin shouted behind him. "I've found Steve!"

Danny hesitated. Ahead of him, a dark doorway loomed. If Foster reached it, he would escape. Anger driving him, Danny ran forward, vaulting a decaying exam table and closing the distance as Foster neared the doorway.

"Danny, he needs help!" Chin called urgently.

 _Just a few more steps_. Danny lunged as Chin's voice rang out behind him.

"DANNY!".

With a yell of frustration, Danny fired off several shots, but Foster had already darted into the blackness and disappeared. " _Dammit,_ " he muttered. He could hear footsteps fleeing deeper into the bunker as he turned away. His anger abated slowly, nervousness filling the void as he picked his way carefully back across the maze. He found Chin crouched over the hole in the floor.

"I thought you said you had Steve?" he asked in confusion.

"Take a look." Chin shone his flashlight into the hole. Suspended between the floor and ceiling of the level below them, Steve hung limply by his wrists on a chain. His head rested on his chest and Danny could see a myriad of red stripes decorating his back as he twisted slowly in a circle.

"Steve? STEVE!" Danny called. "Is he alive?" he asked frantically of Chin.

"Hard to tell until we get him up," Chin said.

The next few minutes were the longest of Danny's life. Chin snagged the chain which hung down through the hole in the floor and set about creating a makeshift winch with the junk available. Danny helped wordlessly, following the older man's instructions and directions until they had pulled their leader through the opening.

As Steve's unconscious form twisted slowly back and forth on the chain, Danny got his first good look at his injuries. Long, thin cuts. Blood. Bruises. Dirt. Grime. Tattered swim trunks that were only on his body because the dried blood had practically glued them to his legs. Damp hair that had never fully dried. Streaks on his face, down his cheeks, which meant-

" _Danny?_ "

Danny started. Chin reached out and gently laid a hand on his arm. "You with me, brah?"

Danny nodded mutely. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"He's breathing," Chin said, indicating with a nod the slight rise and fall of Steve's chest. "He's alive. He's going to be okay. You know that, Danny. He's going to be fine."

Danny nodded again and finally found his voice. "Yeah. Okay."

Chin squeezed his arm and then gestured toward their backpacks. "Get the emergency blanket out," he instructed as he rotated Steve toward the edge of the hole. Danny unfurled the blanket on the ground and they carefully maneuvered their friend onto it. "Watch his hand," Chin added as they prepared to lay him down.

"Remind me to tell SuperSEAL to lay off the snacks," Danny grunted as he struggled under the weight.

Chin pulled a notepad and pencil from the backpack. "You inventory injuries, I'll get vitals," he said, crouching beside Steve's head.

Danny began a verbal list: "Multiple cuts and lacerations on his back… thin scarring around the neck…" Danny lifted each hand and studied it. "Let's see… possible dislocated wrist, missing fingernails… gunshot wound to the thigh… lacerations on the legs and left foot…" Danny lifted Steve's arms and passed the flashlight over his chest. "Heavy bruising under the arm here… nothing broken, though, I don't think… probable infection here… and here… and, well, everywhere… and… I think that's it."

Chin placed two fingers at Steve's neck. "Pulse is a little slow," he noted, catching Danny's eye as he jotted the numbers down. They pulled the crinkly blanket over his body and tucked it in around him.

"I'll call Kono and have her alert the rescue team," Chin offered. "Keep him warm; see if you can rouse him. I don't think our first aid kit can do much for him."

"What about Foster?" Danny looked around nervously. They hadn't heard anything since he disappeared from the room.

"I'm not sure we have much of a choice," Chin said. "If he knows what's good for him, he's long gone by now." Taking the backpack with the sat phone, he hurried away, leaving Danny to stand guard over his unconscious partner.

Listening cautiously, Danny thought he heard a door somewhere below them open and shut. He shone his gun through the hole in the floor but couldn't make out anything more than a pile of rubble in the lower room where the ceiling had collapsed. As Chin's footsteps disappeared above him, he sat down next to his friend and took Steve's good hand in his own.

"Just hang in there, big guy," he murmured as he tried to rub some warmth into the cold skin. "Help is coming, just hang in there a little while longer."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N-** **I got cabin fever and went trail running for the first time in ages on Tuesday. That was a mistake. Now fighting another cold, which really cramps my ability to write and revise. I really need to stick to the gentler activities until the weather is better. Anyway, I'm itching for a long swim in the river and can't stand it. How do you combat being cooped up in the winter? Reading Five-0 stories about warmer climates, maybe?**

 **...**

Thirteen hours after being pulled out of the bunker and flown to the hospital, Commander Steven McGarrett finally opened his eyes.

Those thirteen long hours were hell for Danny who was forced to wait first for the arrival of the Medivac helicopter, and then for the paramedics to stabilize his partner and carry him out of the bunker before finally loading him and transporting him to the hospital. To say that the helicopter ride had been rough would be an understatement. It wasn't just the choppy air, although Danny was sure Steve would claim- _if he'd been awake_ \- that the ride was perfectly smooth. No, for Danny, it was the moment in mid-air when Steve had quit breathing. Confined to his seat in the limited space and unable to move, Danny had been forced to watch as they intubated him mid-flight and began artificial respirations. That, of course, was followed by the agonizingly long wait in the ER to learn his partner's condition and the nature of the damage Foster had inflicted.

In fact, most of what Danny had done in the past twenty-four hours was wait. Wait for his cell-phone to have signal, wait for SAR dogs, wait to find them to find a trace, wait to rappel down the cliff, wait on the helicopter, wait for the doctors, and now, finally, wait for his partner to wake up.

All of the waiting had completely exhausted Danny which was why, when Steve awoke, the first thing he saw was Danny sleeping hunched over in a hard plastic chair next to his bed, a cold cup of coffee on the floor by his feet. Steve almost smiled until he realized how much everything hurt. Instead of his planned greeting, a small groan escaped his lips.

Danny's eyes flew open. "Look who's awake!" he said, trying to smile around the weariness that creased his face.

"Hey Danno," Steve whispered back.

Danny reached for the nurse call button. He tried to avoid looking at the bandaged hand lying on top of the sheets. It was a painful reminder of his inability to find his partner sooner, a failure that, while completely understandable, was still not wholly forgivable in his mind. "How are you feeling?" he asked instead.

"Everything hurts," Steve admitted hoarsely. He tried to shift to a more comfortable position and grimaced.

"Take it easy, buddy. The nurse should be here soon." With one hand clutching his partner's good hand, Danny used the other to punch the controls to raise Steve's bed slightly. "The doctor came by earlier. Cleaning some of the wounds on your back took a while. You were lucky to be out of it- he said it would have been excruciatingly painful if you'd been awake."

"Couldn't be any worse than getting them," Steve murmured as his eyes drifted closed. He missed the guilty frown that crossed his partner's face.

The nurse came in at that moment to check on him. "Is he awake?" she asked Danny when she saw her patient's eyes were shut.

"I'm awake," Steve muttered and opened his eyes reluctantly.

"Good morning, dearie," the nurse beamed. "Let's get you all fixed up, shall we? You've slept through breakfast, but here in a few hours you can have some lunch…" She continued to chatter as she ushered Danny out into the hall while she worked. A short time later, Danny reentered and was pleased to see that his partner had been given something for the pain and seemed much more comfortable. He also seemed very drowsy. Danny settled into the chair again and picked up his cup of cold coffee. "Go back to sleep, Steven."

"Be here later?" Steve whispered as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"You kidding? I've been here so long, they engraved this chair with my name," Danny chuckled, but Steve missed his joke. He was already snoring.

…

Steve awoke again at lunch time and found the rest of the team waiting in the room with Danny.

"Boss!" Kono exclaimed as he opened his eyes. "Good to have you back!"

"Welcome back," Chin smiled serenely from his spot beside her. "You're looking better than the last time I was in here. How's it going?"

"I'm fine," Steve said softly, but he kept very still in the bed.

Danny noticed. "Anything hurt?"

"Only when I move. What-" but whatever he wanted to ask was suddenly lost in a fit of dry hacking. Danny was beside him instantly with a glass of water, pressing a straw toward his mouth.

"Small sips," he encouraged.

"I'll call the nurse," Kono said, reaching for the call button, but Steve shook his head.

"Don't want to sleep yet," he whispered, knowing what the pain medication would do. "What happened?" He rubbed his throat, confused as to why it felt sore inside, instead of outside where the wire had rubbed his skin.

Danny and Chin exchanged glances, unsure how much detail to give. Seeing their hesitation, Kono stepped in with her own, much-condensed version of the story. "These two rappelled off a cliff, trekked through the jungle, broke into a secret Army bunker, found you in a hole in there, Macgyvered a winch and pulley system with a chain and some filing cabinets, and hauled you out."

"Very impressive," Steve agreed hoarsely. He found himself rubbing at his throat once more. "Danny? Why is my throat sore?" he asked while reaching again for the glass of water on the table, but stopped when he saw the bandages on his hand.

Danny made a small noise in his throat while Kono looked away.

"Has the doc been by?" Steve asked, flexing his fingers under their wrappings.

"About an hour ago," Danny nodded. "He said most of your back is healing nicely, but they have you on IV antibiotics as a precaution- he said some of the lashes don't look so great. Hardly surprising considering how nasty that bunker was. They're also worried about some of the more jagged cuts on your chest from your little climbing expedition."

"What about my fingers?" Steve eyed his main firing hand with some trepidation. "What did the doctor say about them?"

Danny looked at Chin and Kono again and took a breath. "Um, he said the nails might grow back."

"But?"

"He doesn't know what they will be like." Danny stopped and looked to Kono for help.

"There's a bed of cells below the skin," Kono picked up. "Those cells produce the actual fingernail. As long as that bed of cells remains undisturbed, the nail will grow back normally."

"And if it's messed up?"

"The nail could grow back crooked, lumpy, or not at all."

"Is it fixable?"

"You mean if the nail matrix is disturbed or damaged? I don't know. I don't think so."

"And do they know if…?"

Kono shook her head. "Sorry boss. You'll just have to wait and see."

"Look on the bright side," Danny said, seeing Steve's crestfallen face. "You already know how to kill people with your left hand, so learning to write and eat and cook with it shouldn't be a problem if the missing nails are a problem for you."

Steve shot a glare in his direction. "What else are you not telling me? Why the extra machines?" he gestured to the various beeping monitors around the bed. "I got beat up a little," he ignored Danny's disbelieving snort, "but all this?" He watched as Chin and Danny exchanged a look, and Chin shrugged, glancing away as he clearly left the ball in Danny's court. Danny sighed.

"You stopped breathing in the helicopter." He hoped that one, short sentence would be enough, but at Steve's expectant expression, he realized he would have to relive those moments again. "Whatever was in that drug cocktail in the water bottle, it had a sedative, but Foster had no way to calculate the dosage. You drank too much and quit breathing." The water bottle alone had made Steve's treatment infinitely more difficult as the doctors were limited in their options until they knew what, exactly, he had consumed. Unresponsive to the world around him, Steve had been on the ventilator for hours, and it was only removed earlier that morning, when he began to show signs of waking.

"What about Foster?" Steve asked, changing the subject.

"Escaped," Chin replied. "But every cop on the island is looking for him. We'll find him, brah."

Steve nodded and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Last question," he murmured sleepily. "What was in the water bottle?"

"A cocktail of stuff, but the only one I remember is zolpidem," Danny said. "We saw the bottle but didn't realize it was drugged until we brought you in and they ran a tox panel. The doc has a full list of the results." Recalling the moment in the helicopter when his friend had stopped breathing, he shuddered. It was good Steve had only drank a few sips. If he had drunk more… but Danny left that thought unfinished.

"Good to know," Steve said tiredly. He turned his head slightly against the pillow and the others soon heard his gentle snores. They waited a few minutes to make sure he was truly asleep.

Then Danny held a hand out to Chin. "Time to pay up."

"About that…" the detective responded slowly.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you pulled a McGarrett and forgot your wallet."

"No, no, I have your winnings," Chin said, holding up several bills, "but I don't think we can technically say this is over yet."

Danny frowned. "We rescued Steve. That was the bet."

"But Foster is still on the loose. I say we hold off on payments until _after_ he's caught and behind bars. Just to be sure." He winked

Danny laughed. "Fine, whatever. Those $40 are still mine."

Kono, who had watched the entire exchange with a growing smile, now nudged Chin. "Time to head back to the Palace, cuz, and see if anything's turned up on our perp." She and Chin stood and headed for the door.

"Danny, let us know when he wakes up again," Chin said as they left.

Danny waved them off and settled back into his chair. "Well, buddy, it's just you and me again," he said to the sleeping man in the bed, and he picked up a magazine.

…

Around three in the afternoon, Danny received a phone call.

"Kono?" he asked, stepping out into the hallway.

"Foster's been spotted," Kono announced breathlessly.

"What?" Danny walked briskly down the hall to the nurse's break room where it was quieter and he could speak to Kono without disturbing Steve. "Where?"

"He showed up at his ex-wife's house a few hours ago. She was too afraid to call while he was there, but she called as soon as he left."

"What did he want?" Danny asked as he paced back and forth beside the vending machines. "Did he hurt her?"

"No, she's fine. Apparently he went to say goodbye."

"Suicide?" Danny guessed.

"Don't know. She said he was rambling, talked about the sun rising over Kailua Beach, the Makapu'u tide pools, and the lighthouse. I've got officers checking those locations now just in case."

"What about his daughter-in-law?"

"Couldn't reach her, but that's not unusual- she's usually out picking up her daughter from day care about now, according to Mrs. Foster. I'm sending an officer to their house just in case."

Danny ran a hand through his hair. "Just when you think it's all over," he sighed.

"Tell me about it," Kono said. There was a buzzing noise in the background. "That's the daughter-in-law now. Catch you later, Danny," and she hung up.

Danny sat down wearily at a table by the window and stared blankly at the city outside. He was exhausted. Since discovering Steve yesterday evening, he had had spent the majority of his time sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, drifting in and out of sleep while waiting on Steve to wake. He longed for his own nice, soft bed, but knew that he couldn't rest until Foster was caught and Steve was safe- completely safe.

His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen to see a text message from Kono: " _Foster left DIL's house ten min ago. Family ok. Sounds like he plans on suicide. Keep you posted_."

Setting the phone aside, Danny rested his head on his arms. Foster just needed to hurry up and kill himself so life could go back to normal, he thought to himself. Then he shook the thought away, feeling slightly guilty. Grace would lecture him on second chances, but really, his mind continued its train of thought, did everyone deserve a second chance? At what point had someone caused enough harm that the greater good would be to take them out of commission permanently? With Wo Fat, that line seemed obvious and the man had crossed it, willingly, long ago.

But in Foster's case, Danny didn't care whether the man's conscience and soul were completely lost, or whether some part of the man could still be redeemed. The anger he felt was so overwhelming and his hatred for the man so intense that Danny couldn't help thinking about killing him… repeatedly… brutally. He smacked his head lightly with his hand, feeling guilty again, but the ideas of what he _could_ do to Foster came unbidden into his mind.

The two sides warred in him with Gracie's voice finally winning out. He had a job to do, a duty to protect others, even those that did not deserve it.

Groaning, Danny rubbed his temples. The whole situation had left him with a massive headache that continued to throb even after two aspirins. Closing his eyes, he decided to give himself 60 more seconds in the quiet break room before he returned to Steve.

He counted as far as 23 when the gentle hum of the vending machines lulled him to sleep.

…

"Sir?" A gentle hand touched his shoulder. "Detective Williams?"

Danny jerked up, startled. He blinked blearily at the nurse standing beside him.

"Your friend, Commander McGarrett is awake again," the nurse said. "I thought you'd want to know."

Danny checked his watch and found that an hour and a half had passed since his phone conversation with Kono. "Thanks," he told the nurse as he stood slowly.

"You're welcome," the nurse said as she moved toward the door. "But there's no rush- he's got his friend to keep him company."

"Friend?"

"Yes," she said over her shoulder as she left, "the older gentleman with the grey hair. Said he was an old friend. He's chatting with the Commander now."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N- Apparently my area is one of the flu epidemic areas right now. Ugh. Sorry for the delay- again.**

 **On a lighter note, I'm pleased to announce my next story: The Unicorn. I'll be on a short (?- I hope!) hiatus while I finish it. Posting should start sometime in March, possibly April. For a sneak preview, do a Google search for "California unicorn" and read the news articles to see my prompt/inspiration for this definitely lighthearted adventure.**

 **Many thanks to Elise Deschat who has reminded me of various things that I didn't know, neglected, or somehow forgot during the story. That said, I don't have an official beta, so any mistakes are mine.**

Steve awoke from his dream with a smile. It had been a nice dream- Catherine was in it- and he was disappointed to leave her behind. Through half-lidded eyes, he spied someone sitting in the chair near the bed.

"Hi Danno," he mumbled sleepily. "How long was I out?"

"Danno's not here, Commander," an uncomfortably familiar voice responded.

Steve's eyes shot open. He jolted upright and looked frantically around for the nurse call button, sending alarms blaring as his heart rate jumped and pain flashed across his back.

Kurtis Foster eyed him with a strange expression from his chair by the bed. "Looking for this?" he asked, holding up the small box. "Someone will be in here in a minute. I'd appreciate it if you tell them that you're feeling fine. Just a bad dream or something- you're a creative man; you'll think of something."

Breathing hard, Steve leaned back cautiously, ignoring the searing pain of multiple healing scars which he knew he had just torn open. Fumbling for the bed controls, he raised the head and studied the man beside him.

Kurtis Foster looked a little haggard and a dirty and was still wearing the clothes he'd worn the night before in the bunker, but was otherwise none the worse for wear. Steve couldn't see any weapons on the man, but he was wearing the lumpy blue jacket again, so Steve couldn't be certain.

A nurse popped her head in the door. "Everything okay in here?"

Kurtis raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Steve and stuck his right hand into his jacket pocket. Understanding the threat, Steve turned his attention to the nurse. "Fine, thanks," he ground out. "Just a bad dream."

"How's the pain, sweetie?" the nurse asked, checking the monitors. "Need another dose?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," Steve lied. He waited until she had gone before turning his attention back to Foster. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"Relax, Commander. I'm not here to hurt you." Kurtis Foster leaned back in the hard plastic chair and stroked his beard, his eyes wandering distractedly over the room. "I've come to surrender. And to chat."

Steve eyed him warily. "My partner's the chatty one. He should be back any second now. You can talk to him." It was uncomfortable, feeling trapped and helpless in bed with help so close. Steve squinted at Foster's jacket, trying to determine if the man were holding his gun in the pocket. If he knew… even if he could guess, it would give him something to work with.

Foster watched the nurse leave, oblivious to Steve's studious gaze. When the woman left, he returned his attention to Steve. "Your partner is asleep in the break room. Passed out halfway through his coffee by the looks of it. No, I didn't do anything to him," he added, seeing the alarm on Steve's face. "He was probably exhausted after pulling you out of that bunker. I imagine that took some work."

Steve glared at him, fuming over his nonchalant tone. "No thanks to you," he growled, holding Mr. Foster's gaze until the older man looked away.

"Yes, well… I left you alive. In one piece. Mostly."

"Only because Danny interrupted you before you could finish."

Mr. Foster looked slightly embarrassed. "Not true. I… well… things have changed."

"Changed? How?!" Steve began, furious. "You told me that I wasn't leaving alive. You said your plan was to kill me the way the ISIS militants killed your son!" he continued, his voice rising in anger. "You told me…" but then he stopped suddenly as a fit of coughing wracked his body. Wheezing, he reached for the water on the table and chugged the contents. "What, exactly, has changed?!" he demanded hoarsely when the coughing subsided.

Mr. Foster shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Like I said, I'm here to surrender," he said while glancing at the door in concern. "I think."

Steve bit back the retort that had already formed in his mouth and took a second hard look at the man sitting before him. Mr. Foster's posture and words, contrary to his appearance yesterday, held none of the threat and overconfidence he had exuded before. Instead, he seemed uncertain, nervous, even. A sorrow had settled on the man's thin frame, and he stared absently at the floor, cocking his head back and forth as though considering some silent conversation that only he could hear.

Steve sighed inwardly. "What did you want to talk about?"

"It doesn't matter," Mr. Foster shrugged. "Your friend, Detective Williams, will be here soon." He lapsed once more into silence, leaving Steve to direct the conversation.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. His head felt fuzzy, probably from the cocktail of pain meds and antibiotics. He was, as Danny would say, on the "good stuff." His outburst at Foster a few minutes earlier had thoroughly exhausted him and now he felt more like sleeping than conversing. But then he thought of Danny- _Was Danny actually safe? Was he really asleep in the break room, or was this a lie?_ Steve couldn't rest until he knew for certain. Prying his eyes open, he settled on the only topic that came to mind. It was a risk, but hoped that Foster's rational, calm behavior would hold just a little while longer. "We spoke to your ex-wife this morning. It sounded like you were contemplating suicide."

"I was," Mr. Foster acknowledged.

"And now?" Steve asked, wondering if the man was preparing for suicide by cop. He hoped to avoid a shootout in the hospital.

Mr. Foster contemplated his hands, folding them back and forth like worn origami. "Can you tell me, Commander, if I can get help in prison?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Steve wasn't sure where the conversation was going. "What do you mean? Help for what? Depression? Suicide?"

"I went to see Elanor. She's my daughter-in-law. She… she wouldn't let me see Lilly. My own granddaughter, and I wasn't allowed to see her," Mr. Foster began to speak without focus. "Elanor said I needed help. Martha said the same thing." He sighed deeply, rubbing his hands into his hair as he spoke. "When I left, I went up to the cliffs at the Makapu'u Lighthouse. I proposed to Martha out there years ago. I wanted to die on my own terms. I suppose, in prison, nothing will be on my own terms anymore?" he broke off, looking to Steve for confirmation.

Steve nodded. He tried to focus on Foster's face, falling back on his SEAL training to mask his involuntary feelings of panic. Moving his good hand slowly across lap, he began to pick at the tape tethering him to the IV line. Mr. Foster didn't seem to notice.

"Growing up, I was the last of 12 kids," Mr. Foster continued. "I had too much freedom, too much control. There was no one to guide me or straighten me out when I started down a bad path. I ended up enlisting at 18. Learned the importance of order, structure, and obedience from the Army."

Steve wasn't sure if he was rambling or sorting his thoughts verbally. He stole a quick glance at the clock and wondered if Danny really were asleep in the breakroom and not lying injured somewhere else. And, if he wasn't asleep or injured, then where the hell was he?

"I got my degree when I got out," Mr. Foster continued. "They paid for it back then, you know. They paid for a lot of things. Anyway, I got a job, got married, and we had Colin. I made absolutely sure that Martha and I raised him right. We gave him everything he needed to succeed in life- a good education, a solid set of morals, and plenty of love. He had everything he could ever want."

Steve pulled one strip of tape free and moved on to the next. Mr. Foster rambled on.

"I couldn't understand why, with everything we had given him, why he would follow in my footsteps and enlist as well. I enlisted out of necessity, but Colin, he had a choice." He fiddled with his hands, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion. "Martha told me this morning that… that Colin enlisted to get away from _me_. That _I_ was the reason he was gone. That I was too controlling." A few tears fell into his lap and he wiped at his nose with one hand. "After that, I left and went to see Elanor, but when she wouldn't let me see Lilly, I realized that she was afraid of me. She said she hoped that the police would catch me, that Lilly would be better off without me in her life. When she called the police, I left and went up the lighthouse."

Steve pulled the last bit of tape free and began to fiddle with the IV line.

"When I was standing out on that cliff, I realized something: Elanor was right. Lilly _would_ be better off without me in her life. They all would."

Steve listened closely to Foster's words. He wasn't unfamiliar with the sentiment _that the world would be better off without me_. He'd heard those words uttered before on cases where suicide was involved. In some cases, that belief, or 'realization' as the victim tended to view it, was the final straw, the last thread holding the person to a willingness to live. _Doing the world a favor_ was something else he'd hear before, and although Foster had yet to utter it, Steve was listening for it.

Foster continued in a broken voice: "I'm an embarrassment to the family now: I've disgraced and torn apart everything that Martha and I worked so hard and for so many years to build. One day, that's all it took- only 24 hours, and I ruined it all." Red-rimmed eyes blinked rapidly as he fought back tears. "That's when I tried to jump."

"What happened?" Steve asked, stalling as his fingers fumbled with the plastic tubing in the crook of his arm. The Foley had been removed earlier, thank goodness, so this was the last difficult piece tying him to the bed. He tried to keep Foster focused on his face, away from the busy activity of his fingers just under the sheet.

"Providence," Mr. Foster said simply. "I got a text from Martha." He slipped a cheap, prepaid cell from his pocket and placed it on the table beside the bed. "She apologized for what she said this morning and for blaming me for Colin's death." He laughed humorlessly. "She was right all along, though- it _was_ my fault. My arrogance, my need for control. But she forgave me. Told me to turn myself in. To get help."

Steve took the phone and scanned the messages on it as Mr. Foster continued. "I remember what I told you in the bunker, that I wanted to make things right. That was a lie, you know. I only said those things so I could buy time to escape. But it isn't a lie anymore. I _am_ truly sorry for what I've done. I want help dealing with… with _this_ ," he said, throwing an arm out to encompass the room. "And I'm here to surrender and take the consequences."

Steve set the phone aside, his mind a confusing mix of thoughts and emotions. The man seated beside him looked the same as his abuser yesterday and Steve struggled with the wrench of panic he felt every time he looked at Foster's face. The drugs in his system weren't helping him rationalize, either, and in the battle of logic versus sentiment, he felt that logic was losing. Then Steve's gaze settled on his bandaged hand which lay tenderly on top of the sheets. "Consequences," he said slowly. "You said you were prepared to take the consequences?"

"If it will help me see my granddaughter again, yes."

Steve flexed his damaged fingers under the bandages. "There's more than just the legal consequences. Do you see this hand? These fingers?" He held them up and waited until he was sure he had Foster's full attention. "Do you realize the nails you ripped away might never grow back? That there are some aspects of my job that I might not be able to do? Going to jail won't fix some of the injuries you've inflicted. The consequences for me might last far longer than the consequences for you. For you, it's a matter of time. For me…" Steve stopped, hesitant to voice the fear he'd harbored since hearing the doctor explain his injury. "For me, it could be permanent."

Foster grimaced and looked away. "I… I didn't realize…" Faltering, he looked at Steve's face, avoiding glancing at his hand. "I mean, it wouldn't have mattered, yesterday, but… I didn't know then. I realize that now." Mr. Foster's voice trembled slightly. "And I really am very sorry."

"Then let me call my partner," Steve offered. Let Detective Williams take you into custody."

"I want to. But I…" He stroked his beard nervously. "I just need a few more minutes."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Why? Do you have another bomb?" Now that he thought about it, a second bomb seemed to make sense. Unwilling to trust his normal intuition due to the various medications he had been given, he persisted in his distrust of Foster, deciding distrust was the safer bet. "Did you plant a bomb somewhere in the building?"

"What? No!" Foster shook his head vehemently. "No, that was a one-time thing."

Steve frowned. He was tiring rapidly and exhaustion pecked at the edges of his mind. It was difficult to think and he didn't have the energy to reason with the man any further. "I can't do this anymore, Mr. Foster. Last chance," and Steve held out his hand for the perceived gun in his jacket.

Mr. Foster hesitated. Then he looked at the door. Steve looked, too. A dark shadow edged into the light under the door.

Steve smiled grimly. "Time's up," he said softly. Pulling the IV out, he tore the sheets aside and kicked before Foster had a chance to react. His foot connected with Foster's leg at the knee and the man fell toward the floor. Leaping out of bed, Steve looped his right arm around the man's neck and squeezed. He was vaguely aware of the door opening and Danny flying into the room, weapon raised. As Foster tried to rise, his feet slipped as he struggled on the floor, his weight pulling Steve down under him. They crashed into the bed together, Steve's head rapping sharply on the edge of the frame. Foster's hands grasped and flailed, pulling at Steve's hair, scratching his face, but Steve only squeezed harder.

For several seconds of eternity, they floundered in a sweaty mess on the floor. Then Steve heard a voice calling from somewhere above him.

" _Steve!_ " but the voice barely registered in his mind. It wasn't until Danny touched his arm - " _Steve, it's okay. You can let go now_." _-_ that he realized the man had gone limp.

Steve released his grip and fell back against the bed. The room spun and it suddenly hurt to breathe. "Is… is he… did I kill him?" he gasped out as Danny pulled Foster's body off of him.

Danny pressed two fingers to the man's neck. "He's alive." He flipped Foster over onto his stomach and cuffed him. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Steve rasped, closing his eyes against the dizziness.

"Somehow I doubt that," Danny said, and Steve could almost hear his partner rolling his eyes. "Let me rephrase the question: did this idiot do anything to you? Hurt you at all?"

"No." Steve heard a slight rustle as Danny searched the man. "Gun?"

"No gun," Danny reported. "Just wallet and keys." There was a slight _clink_ as Danny deposited the items in an evidence bag.

Steve frowned. "I could've sworn there was a gun," he whispered.

"What?" Danny asked, but his voice sounded very far away. "What did you say?"

"I… I thought…" but Steve didn't have the energy to finish. Slumping sideways, he passed out.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N- last chapter! I'm sad that it's over, but happy to have a small break to rest and sleep. We've been instructed to not report to work tomorrow while the sanitation crew comes in and wipes everything down. Apparently 20-25% of our employees were out this week with all kinds of flu-related illnesses. All I've got is a chest cold, thank goodness. Enjoy this last bit and Mahalo for all the reviews. Looking forward to seeing you for the next one.**

After Danny handed Foster off to Chin, he returned to Steve's room and found that he had to wait while the doctors repaired the damage that had been done when Steve had leaped out of bed to choke Foster. Danny wasn't at all surprised that, despite his injuries, Steve had managed to overpower and subdue Foster using only his bare hands. _Well, one bare hand and one bandaged hand_. Danny amended mentally. It was still an impressive feat, even for his crazy, ex-SEAL of a partner. _And now I owe Chin $40_ , he realized.

Disturbed that Foster had managed to access not only the hospital, but also make it all the way to Steve's room without being recognized and apprehended, Danny spent his wait time interviewing the staff to find out how the situation had occurred. The results- which boiled down to human error and shift changes- were self-explanatory but left Danny feeling decidedly unsatisfied.

After being nearly choked to death, Foster had come to and was briefly examined by a doctor before being released into HPD custody. A text from Chin reported that Foster was now back at headquarters and showing some impressive bruising around the neck but sustained no permanent injuries. Someone from IA would stop by later to interview Steve, but Danny knew better than to worry about that now.

When Danny was finally allowed back in over an hour later, Steve appeared to be asleep. He was propped on his side, with pillows positioned around him to keep him from rolling onto his back. A new IV and fresh bandages were present, while the wires for the chest leads trailed from the top of his hospital gown.

As Danny sat down in the plastic chair beside the bed, however, Steve's eyelashes fluttered and finally opened.

"I thought there was a gun," he muttered wearily, his voice raw with pain. "I thought…"

"Hey, that's okay, babe." Danny rubbed his arm soothingly as the nurse pushed something- pain meds, he hoped- into the IV port and quietly left the room. "I am a little surprised it took you so long to pull one of your signature, crazy-SEAL-ninja moves," he ribbed gently. "Figured you would've killed him and broken out of that bunker hours ago."

"It wouldn't have worked." Steve tried to shift into a more comfortable position, curling slightly around the pillows that kept him propped up. "Foster was too careful: never came within arm's length of me unless I was already restrained… kept me from obtaining any weapons and from using the ones that I had… I was working on a few ideas, but some of them depended on having more time." Steve thought of the hole he had chiseled in the crumbling wall around the base of the rebar. "There was nothing else I could have done."

Danny frowned. It took him a moment that Steve wasn't admitting defeat as much as simply stating the facts of the situation. Feeling guilty, he squeezed Steve's arm gently. "I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner."

"Not your fault, Danny." Steve was whispering now as his eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open.

"Mm," Danny responded noncommittally. "Save it for the morning, big guy. You need your beauty rest." He was surprised when Steve didn't argue. Keeping his hand on his friend's arm, he continued the gentle rubbing motions until Steve's breathes evened out and he finally fell asleep.

…

In the middle of the night, Danny found himself suddenly very much awake.

Since the hospital staff had been shaken by Foster's attack, Danny had been granted special permission to spend the night and a small cot had been brought up for him and placed in Steve's room. Now awake and blinking blearily at the dim lights flashing on the machines behind Steve's bed, he wondered what had brought him out of his slumber. A thin strip of light seeped under the doorway from the hall, and the usual muffled sounds of the hospital at night could be faintly heard, but Danny knew neither of these things had woken him.

Then he heard a low moan.

Sitting up, Danny swung his legs off the bed and moved quickly to his partner's side. Steve's forehead was crinkled and his hands twitched in unseen pain. In the dim light, Danny could also see that his eyes were moving rapidly back and forth behind closed eyelids.

"Steve?" he whispered.

Steve moaned again.

Danny shook his shoulder gently. "Wake up, babe."

"D'ny?" Steve muttered something incoherent and Danny grabbed his wrist as Steve threw his bandaged hand haphazardly toward the bed rail. "Wh're .you?"

"I'm here, babe. I'm right here." Danny touched Steve's shoulder again, eliciting a sharp whimper from his friend. Startled, Danny withdrew his hand. "Does it hurt?"

"Hur's," Steve slurred. "Hur's bad." He tossed his head against the pillow while Danny struggled to keep him still.

"I'm calling a nurse, babe, just hold on." Still holding his partner down with one hand, Danny fumbled about for the button to call the nurse, but couldn't find it. As he felt around on the bedside table in the dark for it, Steve lurched suddenly in the bed.

"Pl… _please_ …" he moaned.

"Please what? What do you need?" Danny leaned close, trying to understand the mumbled words falling from his friend's mouth.

" _No m're… Foster… please… st'p_."

Danny jerked back, startled. In the dim light, he saw tears running down his partner's face. Steve wasn't speaking to him at all, he realized. He was having a nightmare. Danny changed tactics. Patting Steve's cheek, he rubbed a hand up and down his arm. "Steve, it's Danny. You're having a nightmare. Wake up."

Steve frowned, caught somewhere between nightmare and reality. " _Why're y'… waitn'…_ " he slurred as his body temporarily stilled. " _Wh' s' long?_ " He took shuddering breath as another tear rolled down his cheek. " _He's hurting me, D'ny. H'rry… pl'se_ " He broke off again as another whimper escaped his lips.

Danny's knees buckled with a sharp pang of guilt. Unable to find the button to call the nurse and unwilling to leave his friend's side, he did the next thing he thought of: he jerked the wires connected to the chest leads, pulling two wires off.

Immediately, a loud alarm blared and a new, brighter light began flashing. This, in turn, brought the nearest nurse who threw open the door, flooding the room with noise and light. The chaos finally pulled Steve from his slumber and his eyes sprang open, spinning wildly over the room as he tried to sit up in bed. Even in his battered, drugged state, he was still a force to be reckoned with, and Danny struggled to keep him reclined as he practically hugged him to the mattress.

"Steve!" he shouted in the man's ear. "Steve, it's Danny. Wake up!" As several nurses and a doctor ran in, he relinquished his hold on his partner, except for Steve's hand which he kept in a tight grip.

"He's having a nightmare," he explained tersely to the new arrivals in the room. As Steve lurched in the bed once again, Danny squeezed his good hand firmly. "Steve, you're safe!" Danny held on tightly as Steve's good hand jerked in his grasp. "Quit thrashing, you Neanderthal! You'll tear your scars open again!"

After a long minute, Steve finally calmed as his eyes found Danny. "D'ny?" he muttered.

"Hey," Danny murmured softly, ignoring the frantic activity around him. "You back with me?"

Steve gulped convulsively and looked around the room.

"Hey. Hey!" Danny tapped his partner's nose. "Look at me. At _me_." Danny waited until Steve's eyes had settled on him. "Foster isn't here. He's at HPD, in a nice, cold cell, and he's not leaving anytime soon," he reassured. He studied Steve's face, not quite sure if his partner understood. "Steve? Did you hear me? You're safe."

Steve's eyes swept the room once more before he finally nodded.

"These nice people want to check you out, babe. Make sure you're okay. Think you can roll over for them?" Danny coaxed.

Steve nodded again and allowed the nurses to roll him gently on his side as the doctor examined the stitches and bandages on his back. A few minutes later, he was returned to a resting position and the room quieted as the people left. Through the whole process, he had clutched Danny's hand possessively, missing the guilt on his friend's face as he saw the wounds and bindings up close for the first time. Now, once more tucked in bed, he allowed Danny's hand to gently slip from between his fingers. For a moment, Danny thought he had drifted off. Then he heard a small voice.

"Danny?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Thanks for coming for me." Steve's voice, though weary, was finally clear. "It's good to know that…" Steve paused for a breath, "… that you've always got my back."

Although it was dark in the room and Steve's eyes were closed, Danny forced a smile. "Anytime, babe. Anytime."

…

 _"Alright, brah, pay up."_

 _"I don't think so. This last round doesn't count."_

 _"How does it not count? Steve was in the hospital bed and still went all ninja on the guy!"_

 _"He wasn't in any real danger, though. No gun, no bomb, no weapons…"_

 _"Maybe Foster planned to smother him, how can we know? I'm guessing when Foster's psyche profile comes back, we're going to find out the man is lolo."_

 _"So?"_

 _"If Steve was in danger, then you owe me $40, brah."_

 _"No,_ you _owe_ me _$40 for pulling him out of that bunker."_

Steve groaned inwardly as the voices pulled him out of his restful slumber. He recognized Danny and Chin's voices, with Kono making the occasional interjection, but the meaning of the words didn't actually sink in. Instead, he found himself disoriented and confused and several of the monitors beeped as he began to panic.

The alarm alerted Danny, who was beside him in an instant, rubbing a hand gently on his arm. "Steve, you're okay. Wake up for me. You're safe," he soothed in a low voice.

"D'ny?" Steve mumbled, eyes still closed. He tried to reach out with his hand, but it flopped uselessly on the covers. "Why're y' in m' house?"

"We're not in your house, you goof."

Steve frowned and wrinkled his nose.

"Come on, babe- I need you to join the living." Danny's warm hand took Steve's own and closed over it gently. "Want to open your eyes for us?"

"No." Steve was perfectly happy with his eyes closed. In fact, he really wanted to go back to sleep, but a dull throbbing sensation in his other hand, the hand that Danny wasn't holding, kept him present. As he tightened his fingers around the sheets, the pain ratcheted up a notch and with it, a flash of memory. His eyes sprang open. "Foster?" His eyes searched the room before settling on Danny's blurry form at his side. "What h'ppened?

"Take it easy, babe. Foster's locked up at HPD. He won't be hurting anyone else."

Seeing Chin and Kono sitting behind Danny, Steve tried to sit up, but Danny held him down. "Hey, hey, I said take it easy. You've already torn your back open once. Let the doc check you out first." He thumbed the nurse call button, then gently raised the bed a few inches and tried to rearrange the pillows for improved viewing. "That better?"

"Yeah." Steve blinked blearily until the others came into focus.

"They must have you on the good stuff, babe. Normally you hate naps."

"Uh… yeah," Steve agreed, closing his eyes again. "Fuzzy… hate it."

"Trust me, if you could see your back, you'd change your mind."

Steve grunted.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" Danny exchanged a worried look with Chin. He hated how weak and vulnerable his partner looked, covered in bandages with lines and tubes sprouting from under the sheets. He hated Foster even more for taking advantage of a man who only wanted to help his son succeed. "What hurts?"

"What doesn'?" Steve slurred, trying to shift again. His efforts quickly had him out of breath, which earned Danny a stern look from the doctor as he entered.

"Detective, Officers," he greeted them shortly. "Give us a few minutes, please?"

Danny and the others rose obligingly and moved to the hallway. A few minutes they were ushered back inside and found Steve resting more comfortably with access to the pain pump within easy reach.

As Danny settled back into the plastic chair, Steve's eyes flickered over the two cousins. "You an' Chin okay?"

"Us?" Kono gave a light, nervous smile. "We're not the ones in the hospital bed, boss."

"Heard you had a rough night," Chin added. "Figured a little extra company might help."

Steve nodded slightly. " 'Preciate you coming to get me."

"Like we wouldn't get you," Danny scoffed. Seeing his partner struggle with basic conversation, he patted his arm gently. "I hate to sound like a broken record, but why don't you take another nap? It'll be lunch in a couple of hours- I'll wake you then."

"Lunch sounds good," Steve murmured.

Chin smiled and briefly squeezed his hand. "Rest up, Steve," he said quietly, then turned to Danny. "Kono and I will head out and pick up something. We'll be back soon."

Danny nodded his understanding and pulled the plastic chair closer to the bed as the cousins left. Picking up a magazine and thumbing it open to the page where he had left off, he had just found his place in the article when a soft noise made him raise his eyes.

To his surprise, he found Steve watching him, a small frown creasing the forehead above two tired eyes.

"You're supposed to be resting," Danny chided. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Heard you earlier," Steve said quietly. "You and Chin. What were you arguing about?"

Danny looked away guiltily. "We- Chin and I- placed bets," he finally admitted. "I thought… I mean, you and I, we've been through so much shit, so many crazy situations before and… we- well, me, I guess- I thought you'd pull some crazy SEAL stunt and have the guy handcuffed and strung up by his ankles by the time we got to you." He paused to take a breath. "We had no idea… I mean, if I'd known…" his voice trailed off.

Steve stared incredulously at his partner. _This_ was the cause of the guilty expression on Danny's face? A little, harmless bet? "Danny?"

Danny didn't respond.

"Danno. Hey!" Steve snapped his fingers on his good hand in front of the detective's face. "Danny, it's okay." He focused hard on not slurring his words. "Trust me: sometimes a dark sense of humor is the only way to get through some situations. My SEAL team- some of the jokes we told… it comes with the territory." He watched Danny's face for some sign of comprehension. "Danny, you can't feel guilty for making light of a serious situation. You and Chin found me, and you saved me. You. Saved. Me. Got that?"

Danny nodded mutely

"Good." Steve settled back against the pillows. "So who won?"

"I did," Danny sighed morosely.

"Hey. What did I say about the guilt thing?"

Danny nodded but also shrugged.

Steve rolled his eyes. "How about this: you have to donate half your winnings to the victim? It's only fair…"

That brought Danny back and alert very fast. "Fair? Fair? Do I need to remind you, Mr. I-Forgot-My-Wallet, how much is currently on your tab? You should be donating to me, not the other way around…"

Steve grinned as Danny rambled on in a classic rant, allowing the drone of his partner's voice to wash over him and lull him into peaceful slumber.

Danny didn't even notice when he fell asleep.

Epilogue: Three days later

"Danny, I can _walk_ ," Steve whined as his partner pushed the wheelchair slowly toward the hospital entrance.

"Babe, it's hospital policy. You know the rules." Danny kept a firm hand on the SEAL's shoulder, forcing Steve to stay seated as he guided the wheelchair through the atrium toward the double-doored exit. "If you'd hold still so I could push with two hands, we'd get this done faster."

Annoyed, Steve slumped back in the seat and tapped one foot impatiently against the footrest. He breathed a sigh of relief when the doors finally opened and a fresh Hawaiian breeze greeted them. Relaxing somewhat, he allowed Danny to push him down the sidewalk but was surprised to see Chin leaning against the hood of his blue truck in the pick-up zone.

"Howzit," he greeted the pair. "Ready to get out of here?"

"More than ready," Steve grunted as he pushed himself upright and swung himself carefully into the passenger seat.

"Good," Danny responded as he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Just one more errand to run and then we'll get you settled at home."

"Errand?" Steve frowned.

"My car, babe. You know, the one you always drive but don't pay insurance on." Danny pulled out of the parking lot and headed north. "The nice state of Hawaii paid for our helicopter ride over here, remember? Actually, you probably don't remember any of that at all," he added as an afterthought. "Anyway, it's still sitting at the trailhead. Where we left it. Five days ago."

"Why is it still there?" Steve demanded. "Why didn't you get it earlier?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Honestly, sometimes I think you are more worried about that car than the rest of us combined. Think about it, Steven: Where is the car?"

"Trailhead."

"Okay. And who drove the car there?"

"I did."

"So who had the keys?"

"I had them."

"Good boy," Danny smirked as Steve shot a glare in his direction. "And where did you put those keys?"

"In my backpack." Steve sighed. "I get the picture, Danny."

"And where was the backpack?" Danny persisted.

"I said I get it."

"Do you, Steven? Do you really get it? Because for the past five days- FIVE- I have been stranded, unable to get back into my apartment or get my car or do anything else for that matter because the Army didn't finish inventory of the bunker until last night. If you'd let the _owner_ of the car have the keys, then maybe, just maybe, said owner could have gone home and taken a shower and gotten a fresh change of clothes, but no! You, Mr. Control Freak, had to have them…"

From the back seat, Chin followed the one-sided argument with a serene smile. The scars- both physical and psychological- may not have fully healed, but the ohana was back together, and for Chin, that was all that mattered.

 **A/N** \- **Not the strongest ending, I know. Definitely my weak point. I may come back and readjust this chapter later. We'll see. In the meantime, thanks for all the follows, favorites, and reviews on this story! You guys are wonderful! In return, here's a preview for my next story, The Unicorn:**

(On the telephone)

"Duke, Danny Williams here. We need a case. Any case, at this point- I'm not picky. … Why? Cause my partner is an animal, that's why. A crazy, cooped-up animal who needs something to do before he turns feral and kills me… No, I'm only slightly exaggerating… Yeah, Duke, just give us the next case that comes in… Yup, I don't care what it is- I want the next case to be assigned to Five-0, _no matter what._ "


End file.
